The Dead Chronicles: Children of the Unseen One
by S.A.M. - Piccarda
Summary: The final story in the Dead Chronicles series. The titans have foreseen the birth of three children to Hades and Persephone, including their son Zagreus who is prophesized to suffer a fate worse than Death or else mark their return to power. The future of all Olympians and mortals lies in the hands of the children of the Unseen One and his Queen.
1. Chapter 1

**The Dead Chronicles: Children of the Unseen One**

 **This will be the final story in 'The Dead Chronicles' series. If you haven't read the others, I suggest going back to 'Our Lady of the Underworld' to begin the series. Thank you to all those who have read all three stories and leave me reviews; I have loved all of your suggestions and encouragement! For those of you who are avid fans of Greek mythology you will notice that I stretch the original myths further with every story in this series. Sadly, there is not much written about Hades's children or what happened once Persephone was secure on her throne. I hope that you will still enjoy my interpretation of the Underworld and all of the myths that surrounded it.**

Deep in the Underworld Macaria sat uncertainly on her father's horse. Her posture was perfect but she was holding back shivers of fear. The midnight-black stallion was still under Hades's stern gaze. She was certain that it could sense her trepidation but dared not upset her father.

"He's higher than I thought," she admitted, adjusting the reins in her hands.

Macaria appeared to be somewhere in her late teens rapidly approaching young adulthood. Her features were very much like her mother – soft eyes, warm skin and a girlish figure. Only her long black hair tied neatly to her waist was reminiscent of her father.

Hades watched her without concern.

"Lead him for a gentle walk first. He will acknowledge his mistress."

Macaria nodded and coaxed the dead beast forward. It nickered once but obeyed, its fiery temperament soothed by her soft words and decisive touch. After a few cautious minutes, Macaria began to smile.

"He's not so bad on his own," she remarked, as the stallion turned for her in a wide arch. Hades also gave his characteristic half-smile at her growing confidence.

"They are all spirited when in the air and carrying my chariot, I assure you."

Macaria took the stallion on a slow, steady trudge along the trail that ran around the House of Hades. She waved to the servants attending to the gardens on the shores of the River Styx. She called a greeting to Charon as he hefted him load of Shades along the waterway in his boat. She rode closer to the Hall of Judgement and greeted her mother.

"Mum! Mum! Look!"

Persephone clapped her hands and gave her a beaming grin. Beside her, Hecate applauded the princess of the Underworld. Macaria laughed and blushed.

"You look wonderful sweetheart," her mother cried back as Macaria continued forward. "Just like your father."

Macaria ducked her head to hide her face as she beamed with pride. She adored her sweet, beautiful mother with all her heart. Persephone was gentleness personified, full of understanding and endless grace. She thought her mother was the prettiest goddess ever (although she was careful never to voice this thought aloud in case Hera or Aphrodite heard her) and Macaria was forever trying to emulate her elegant manners. Demeter too was always a vision of splendour for Macaria – full of sunshine and the promise of joyful spring. Demeter came to the Underworld sometimes and told Macaria stories of Zeus's realm which the obedient princess listened to, even if they didn't much interest her. Sometimes as the Triple Goddesses sat together and enjoyed each other's company (Persephone, Demeter and Hecate) Macaria would just drink in the sight of them and feel dwarfed by their beauty and majesty.

But above all, it was her father that held court in her heart. He and Macaria were so alike in so many ways that Persephone sometimes teased them by calling them her twins. Hades endlessly fascinated Macaria and she knew that she adored him with every fibre of her being. He knew almost everything, he was ridiculously powerful, he worked hard as master of the Underworld, he was just, he was patient and best of all, he looked after his daughter at every opportunity. Hades liked to challenge her with tasks for the realm. Macaria gladly rose to the occasion to win his approval and catch his smile. She had inherited his cool disposition, his logical mind, his passion for hard work and his intellect.

The two goddesses waved Macaria on. In Zeus's realm, only two years had passed since Macaria's birth. She was maturing very quickly, as her father had. Soon she would cease visibly aging and obtain her divine visage as a young woman.

Macaria urged the horse into a trot to return to her father's House. Hades was there waiting, a servant quickly muttering in his ear. Macaria didn't need his help to dismount although the stallion was enormous; she touched the shadows and let them help her down. To anyone watching, Macaria appeared to be swallowed in black smoke and then suddenly, she was on the ground, holding the horse's head in both of her soft hands.

Hades nodded his approval as he approached her. Macaria stroked the stallion's nose.

"When did you learn that skill?"

Macaria stood tall and a servant led the stallion away.

"I watched you do it," she answered honestly. "I got the hang of it yesterday."

Hades held out his arm and grinning, Macaria took it. Her father was much taller than she was but she could loop her arm through the crook of his elbow if he dropped it low enough.

"Beautiful and more talented every day," he mused as, arm in arm, they returned to the House. "Soon you will be ready to enter your own principality."

Macaria blinked.

"But I thought that the Underworld was, well, complete," she stuttered. "What else..? I mean, what do you want me to be the goddess of?"

Hades tapped her on the nose, quick as thought.

"That lies between you and the Fates," he told her. "Although I may already have some inclination of what they have set out for you."

Macaria gave him an unsurprised look.

"You know everything in this realm," she implored. "Can't you just tell me what I'm meant to do?"

Hades stopped to take both of her hands and look her square in the eyes.

"You will know what the Moirae decree for you," he promised. "You will find out very soon."

The doors were opened for them by servants and Hades ensured that the stallion had been returned to his stall, adding instructions to the groom to allow Macaria to ride him when she pleased.

"He can be taken to Zeus's realm, if you choose to accompany your mother," he reminded Macaria. She thanked him but made a face.

"I would rather stay here, if you don't mind," she admitted. "There won't be anything for me to do up there."

Hades beckoned to the servants to make the parlour ready. He spread his hands in a consoling gesture to his daughter, who still looked disgruntled.

"The choice is yours, princess," he reassured her. "She will be leaving us soon."

"Only for the season," Macaria chimed in. She knew her father missed her mother terribly but he would never presume to stop her from her visits to the upper realm. It was a pattern like the seasons, something to be endured without complaint. Besides, Persephone was of the two realms and did good work in both.

"Just that," Hades agreed. He urged her in the direction of the library. It was tradition for Macaria to pick a book from the Dead Chronicles and read to both of her parents in the parlour while the King and Queen wrote their correspondence and worked. This little domestic ritual suited them all and made the three of them very close. She hurried away to choose a story for them all.

The servants each had a smile or a wave for her as she raced through the House. She was beloved by them all, especially by those servants who had resided for a long time in the Underworld and had never expected Hades to have a child. She was precious and gracious, every inch her father's daughter.

She reached the shadowy library of the Dead Chronicles. Hades had expanded his study into a new wing, where he stored volumes she could view any time she liked. Behind a silver and black door lay more volumes and her father's desk. He often kept the door closed when he needed privacy and quiet. Macaria never opened the door without his permission. She wasn't sure anyone could open the door against her father's wishes.

Macaria ignored the closed door and instead ran her fingers along the tomes she was permitted to read, feeling the cool rustle of their pages and looking for any title that managed to jump out and catch her attention. Her palm caught the cover of an enormous volume called 'The Trojan War.' There was no author listed, which was odd. Curious, she slipped the heavy chronicle from its place only to find her father's crest on the cover. Macaria flipped it open to discover Hades's neat, close hand had inscribed most of the tome. She grinned and took the volume to hold it against her chest. It was bulky and cumbersome; pages threatened to fall out.

Carefully toting her selection Macaria left the library to join her parents. She failed entirely to notice the door to her father's study was open a crack but if she had and then dared to peek inside at his desk, she would have been able to read the titan's prophecy Hades had carefully copied and taken to the Moirae, written in his distinctive style: _Three children born to the King and Queen of the Dead_. _The first is the carrier of light that shalt never see the sun. The second shall suffer a fate worse than Death or else mark the rise of the Titans. The third shall wander with ghosts as comrades, seeking that which should not be sought._

But Macaria staggered to the parlour in blissful ignorance of her fate, not knowing enough to fear for the future set for herself and her siblings just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Although the highly social gods and goddesses on Mount Olympus often said that Hades and his wife were recluses down in the Underworld, the Queen found remarkably little time to be completely alone with her husband. She treasured the rare time with him in their parlour, as Hades wrapped his arms around her and gently stroked the back of one of her hands. She leant back into his chest, feeling slight next to his body, feeling loved in his arms.

"Macaria still doesn't want to come with me?" she muttered, smiling, to her husband. "She is so much her father's child."

Persephone felt the vibration of his deep laughter run down her spine. He whispered his words into her ear, making her shiver.

"She wishes to find her place in the world and is wise enough to know that it is here." Hades kissed her neck. "I would argue that in this, she is very much like her mother."

She rolled her eyes and turned to face Hades, swivelling in his lap. His sweet half-smile was confirmation of what she already knew – he was so proud of the remarkable child they had created that was the sum of both her parents. Persephone leaned closer and tucked her head under his chin, relishing his touch, listening to their heartbeats together. Hades touched her under her chin and moved their lips together.

"When you're done over there…" their daughter's voice interrupted. "I've picked something to read and I'd like to be able to uncover my eyes, please."

Persephone smiled, broke their kiss and stood to reach for her child. Macaria was jestingly squeezing her eyes shut, her arms straining under the weight of an enormous tome as she stood immobile in the parlour. Persephone tickled her daughter and the girl opened her eyes to give her mother a mock glare.

 _She's still so young,_ Persephone thought. _My baby._

"May I enter, or is this a bad time?" Macaria joked.

In answer, Persephone steered her by the shoulders to her customary armchair. A servant entered and lit the lights for them. As the illumination spread, Hades saw what volume Macaria had chosen.

"We will be seated here for years to finish that!" he exclaimed. "And the author's expression may be lacking. Are you sure that you want to read this?"

"Who wrote it?" Persephone asked. As far as she knew, Hades didn't keep any literature that he found lacking in merit.

" _Dad_ wrote about the Trojan War," Macaria grinned, spreading the volume across her lap. She had to use both hands to pry the front cover open. "I found it."

"I wrote it for myself," Hades told them, settling back into his chair and staring at Macaria as she struggled to find the first page. "Many accounts of the Trojan War and the events that led to it were too inaccurate or poetic to do it justice. There were so many that romanticised the war long after it had ended. I put this together afterwards as a reminder of the truth." He flicked a finger at the cover and Macaria sat back quickly so that the pages could turn at her father's whim. "We will not attempt to read the first two sections. They are only lists of the dead and their corresponding judgements. The back section is my narrative of events and is much shorter."

Macaria let the pages fly. When they settled at the last section she clutched the hefty book closer to her face. She cleared her throat as her mother settled down beside her father. Persephone was intrigued. She'd not heard much from her mother about the events of the war. Demeter had little involvement and it had never been a topic Persephone had pursued.

"An account of the War at Troy and the Deal of Paris," Macaria read aloud in a clear, steady voice.

"After much counsel with the Fates, Zeus determined that only the titan Prometheus could inform him of the name of a son destined to usurp his father. Given our history and struggle with the aid of an identical prophecy, Zeus was adamant that he would discover the name of this child. I cautioned him in the lengths he purported to go in order to secure this information but he was resolute. He tortured the rebellious titan until Prometheus disclosed that the goddess Thetis would give birth to the prophesised son who would eclipse his father. The titan is now a resident in Tartarus.

Initially the goddess scorned the titan's prophecy as a meaningless sneer against the power of the Olympians. But the Moirae themselves urged her that the path of destiny was set. Zeus decreed that Thetis select a husband from amongst the mortals. A demi-god who usurped his mortal father would be no danger to the God of the Heavens. Prometheus ignited the events that would see the deaths of hundreds, injure the immortals themselves and draw new divisions between the Olympians.

Many mortals pursued the goddess but only one, Peleus, had known her since his own childhood. It was rumoured that she shapeshifted into many forms to dissuade him but he would not let go of the notion of marriage to her, such was his regard for her. Their wedding was in very early spring that same year. I was invited and, at Zeus's insistence, I attended. With my attendance, the pantheons in our entirety were there. Many were inclined to celebrate with the mortals. I stood invisible and vigilant."

"My mother met my father there," Persephone realised with a laugh. She knew Demeter only had a brief encounter with her mortal father but his Shade rested in Elysium. She had not known him as a child. He hadn't spent any more time with her mother after her conception.

Macaria stared at her parents a little incredulously.

"Are you two the _only_ two immortals to marry and live together?" she asked, looking frankly at the both of them. Hades took Persephone's hand.

"No, but it's not that common, sweetheart. Forever is a long time and particularly for immortals who… like to have a fling with a mortal…" Persephone sighed, trying to think of how to explain. "Well, the immortal's attraction is often short-lasting and mortals die so quickly so to live together, the immortal would need to raise their mortal partner to the level of a god or goddess. It isn't a simple thing. It's a huge commitment."

"Makes sense," Macaria shrugged and bent back over the book, already absorbed in the story. Persephone exchanged a glance with Hades. He was smiling like an idiot at her. Persephone resisted the urge to hit him and settled back against the seat instead. His hold on her hand tightened.

 _I love you too,_ Persephone thought.

Macaria read on.

"Eris arrived late after the ceremony had concluded. The goddess of strife and discord was not well-known by many immortals and so she entered the festivities unchallenged. She occasionally frequents the Underworld to visit Hecate and I recognised her power. I followed her invisibly to the main pavilion. She threw something with potent enchantment attached to it towards three of the most formidable goddesses in attendance – Athena, Hera and Aphrodite. Confident they could counter any attack from the item, I banished Eris to the Underworld to be held for later retribution. The celebration paused as she vanished with a cruel laugh. Satisfied that the threat was removed, I watched Hermes collect what Eris had thrown – a golden apple, a trifling thing of metal with the message 'To the Fairest' inscribed along the middle. I thought it irrelevant but Zeus decreed that ownership of the apple would be judged by a mortal, Paris, the son of Priam.

I did not appreciate the jealous rift that the apple had sown between the goddesses to achieve the design of the Moirae. Such was the power of the apple and Eris's scheme that Hera, Athena and Aphrodite meditated dire vengeance over such a mundane artefact. For it was not the small piece of metal they truly sought, but the prestige of the title of 'Fairest.'"

"A ludicrous beginning to war," Hades commented, shaking his head. Macaria shushed him and continued to read.

"Zeus exacted no revenge upon Eris; no judgement was meted against her for her part in this scheme. Hecate declared herself unimpressed and assured me that difficult fates were now set in motion against the mortals. Thanatos and I had yet to receive confirmation of this, as Paris had not yet made his final decision.

I took an account of Paris's judgement from Hermes, who delivered the apple to the mortal prince with instructions from Zeus. When the mortal was seated in the fields tending to his sheep, the goddesses descended to be judged. Each immortal offered him bribes. Such was Eris's enchantment that they continued to attach important meaning to the bestowment of this object, even to the point of offering up choice use of their powers. I had Hermes describe the bribes to me. It was clear that only Aphrodite had considered the character of the judge she was attempting to sway beforehand. Hera promised kingship of a country Paris would have never heard of. Athena promised an unwarlike mortal that he would never lose a battle and possess great wisdom; rich gifts that mortals seldom had the foresight to choose. Aphrodite instead enticed Paris with Helen of Sparta, a demi-goddess known for astonishing beauty. Paris queried this, as Helen was married to King Menelaus but Aphrodite gave her word as a goddess that Helen could be his. He awarded her the apple."

"What happened to the apple, dad?" Macaria asked.

"It is in my vaults as it is considered a dangerous item," Hades admitted. "Zeus took it from Aphrodite almost immediately after she had won it. It was the title she wanted, the victory over the other goddesses and not the item itself. She had little interest in it after she was successful."

Persephone had actually seen it, stored between other objects in her husband's vaults. It was a faded and grubby little thing now but it still carried some of its original greedy allure. The words could still be made out on its side.

Macaria turned back to her page.

"As Paris announced his decision, Thanatos warned me of the war yet to come that had been triggered by this singular event. In the Underworld, preparations were made for the hosts of Shades that would soon seek final judgement. I acquired more servants. A war of this magnitude would mean scores of dead soldiers, who are notoriously difficult to judge.

In this time, the Moirae informed me in our discussions that Aphrodite wrath was directed at Helen's father. He had allegedly not paid her proper tribute and had set the foundations for the goddess to ensure his child would be an adulteress. Elements of Zeus's scheme fell into place. The fact that Helen was his daughter did not influence him, in the grand scheme of events."

Macaria's eyes were enormous, with horror or incredulity Persephone wasn't sure. She glanced at her husband but she didn't need to. His disgust in his brother's disdainful treatment of Helen was evident in his brittle gaze and his tense, unhappy posture.

Persephone imagined trying to justify putting Macaria through similar circumstances and couldn't do it.

"Where is Helen in the Underworld, Dad?" Macaria asked, her eyes locked on the upsetting page.

"Elysium," Hades told her gently. "I made her judgement myself. The woman deserved some peace after the way her life was manipulated. There were factors that the other judges may have had difficulty overlooking but I believe there were enough extenuating circumstances for the judgement to be fair."

Macaria nodded, seemingly soothed by this. Persephone saw that her daughter didn't bother asking Hades if he'd ever let anyone use her life the way Zeus had Helen's. It was hard, Persephone knew, to be the child of a powerful being and know that your existence was a pawn in higher politics. She had been in that situation with Demeter many times, until she had made a choice for herself – the choice of Hades and leadership of the Underworld.

Her daughter swallowed and read on.

"Although Menelaus and Helen had been married for many years of contentment, Aphrodite herself took Eros and Paris to Sparta to obtain the desired prize. In the Underworld, the Shades of Menelaus's family members left the Isle of the Blessed to beg me to intervene. It was a touching plea but events were transpiring outside of my realm and dominion. I reassured the dead that their descendants would be judged fairly. It transpired that Paris stole the enraptured Helen back to Troy and her enraged husband summoned all of his Greek allies to mark the first battle of the war. It was a cataclysmic affair of bloodshed. I felt the tremor of Ares's delight as nations fell on nations and the world became consumed by bringing about victory from death. Thanatos walked the shores of Troy, collecting multitudes of souls. Hecate, Hermes, Morpheus, the Lampades and I opened an enormous connection to Zeus's realm at Troy to ensure the dead had swift passage to the Underworld. It was an incredible visage – dead soldiers and Trojan citizens walking as new Shades, nonplussed and all violence taken away with their last breath – pouring into my realm in staggering crowds. The struggles lasted ten years, the toll of Shades was gargantuan and few esteemed themselves significantly enough to be given rights to the Fields of Elysium."

Hades sighed.

"So few on the Isle of the Blessed," Macaria murmured, closing the tome for the moment. Persephone happily remembered her first visit once she was established as Queen through the fabled Gates of Elysium. It wasn't a place easily forgotten; she recalled meeting souls who had passed the Elysian Mysteries under Demeter, Hecate and herself. Their tutelage had secured them paradise and her heart had been full of pride at the sight. They had been every bit as impressive as the Isle itself.

Hades took the heavy volume from his daughter and kissed the top of her head.

"We shall save the continuation of the story for when your mother is away. Come bid her farewell and we shall visit Elysium."

Macaria scrambled to her feet. The three of them left the House and took a private boat across the river to reach Cerberus at the Gates of the Underworld.

Macaria helped herself out of the boat, laughed and threw Cerberus a toy she had made herself for the gigantic hound. His heads fought over the toy while Macaria patted one of his massive limbs. Between his legs and beyond the formidable door, Hecate and Hermes were waiting. Persephone held Hades close for her goodbye.

"I will see you both soon," she promised. Hades beckoned Macaria closer and together, her two dark-haired 'twins' hemmed her in from either side in a farewell hug.

"Take care Mum," Macaria said, slightly breathless. Persephone kissed her daughter's pale cheek.

"And you, sweetheart. I will bring you something back. You sure you don't want to come?"

"I'm sure," Macaria answered without hesitation. The sunlight was not for her, it seemed. Hades had told Persephone of the prophecy of their children and the Queen did not fear for her eldest daughter.

 _She's happy here,_ Persephone smiled. _Just like her father._

So she extricated herself from her family's hug and waved, stepping out of her realm and into the strange twilight between Zeus and Hades's dominions. Once she was between Hermes and Hecate the three of them flashed with a brilliant white light, starting their journey upwards.

No, she didn't fear for Macaria. The princess was strong and steadfastly devoted to the realm. Persephone's secret terrors were for her as yet unborn children. Hades had spoken with her at great length, the two of them trying to reassure each other's trepidation.

To her husband, forewarned was forearmed and he proposed asking Zeus the meaning of the prophecy to countermand the worst of it. He pointed out the prophecy of Psyche as an example.

"She was informed that she would marry something that even Zeus fears," he argued. "Eros is a formidable force that Zeus must be wary of but the words of Apollo were designed to injure the god's reputation. This titan would have meant to do the same."

Persephone had conceded that the titan had spoken from malice but it didn't entirely stop her fretting.

Hecate noticed.

"We could turn around," she reminded Persephone, poking her with one of her characteristic long nails. "You don't have to go."

"I want to see my mother," Persephone reasoned. She shrugged at Hecate's inquisitive stare. "It's nothing."

Persephone tried to take Hades's stance on the situation, which was that they had the ability and will to shape a happy future for their family, no matter what was prophesized or what curses were laid against them. But worry continued to cling to Persephone. She wondered if she ought to be doing something, preparing to counteract the future already.

 _I have to keep us safe. All of us. All my family._

Persephone journeyed on into the light.


	3. Chapter 3

As they were rowed along the rivers by a servant, Macaria was full of polite questions for Hades. And as usual, he was amazed at the depth and breadth of her curiosities. The questions were a sweet pastime as they travelled the length of the Underworld to Elysium.

"Dad, how did you get so many names from the mortals?"

"Which names are you referring to?"

"Well, they call you things like the Rich One, the Silent One, the Unseen One… Why don't they just pray to by name like everybody else?"

Hades mulled over his answer for only a moment. He did not enjoy upsetting his daughter but Macaria deserved the truth. Honestly, he wished he never had to tell her anything even remotely unpleasant but that was not how children survived in the world. Parents who lied to their offspring to spare them pain or fear risked making their children vulnerable in their ignorance. That was not the kind of father he aspired to be. He had meditated on this at length before Macaria had been able to speak aloud, mere days after her birth.

"In life, many mortals fear death," Hades began as the boat rocked smoothly onwards. "This is partly because they are in awe of the Underworld and terrified that Thanatos will come to claim their soul and those of their family. This dread is such that they prefer not to speak of our realm at all and even less of its ruler."

"But Mum is changing that, isn't she?" Macaria pointed out with a smile.

"Yes, through the Mysteries." Hades gave her a pointed look. "But to mortals, life is precious and fleeting. They avoid any mention of death wherever possible. Ask Thanatos to talk to you about it."

Macaria frowned but didn't quiz him further until they were almost docked.

"So why are you called the Rich One?"

Hades disembarked and held out a hand for his daughter. Already the sounds and smells of the Isle of the Blessed issued from between those ornate doors and saturated the air.

"Mortal wealth is mined from the ground," Hades explained. "In the form of minerals mostly. Tribute in coins and other goods is regularly sent to me. For the mortals will pay dearly to keep Thanatos away in any currency. My displeasure is universally feared and believed to be assuaged by gifts. My dear, the Underworld collects the wealth of the living and wants for very little. The mortals perceive this and conclude me a very wealthy being, becoming very rich on these trifles."

"Okay, I sort of get it," Macaria admitted, nodding slowly. Hades tapped her nose with one finger and she almost rolled her eyes at him. But it worked, she was distracted.

"Have no worries about how those in the realms perceive me," Hades told her. "Due to my dominion, there is a certain amount of fear that distorts any truth regarding me personally. Think of your own reverence instead. What would you wish to stand for? How do you want the mortals to see you?"

Macaria grew silent at that. The guards to Elysium bowed and opened the marble doors so that their King and princess may enter.

Elysium was one of Hades's most impressive accomplishments in the Underworld. It was a realm unto itself, similar to the ocean depths that were Poseidon's realm of power but resided as a permanent fixture in Zeus's realm. Vast and beatific, it was a mini-world untainted by the calamities released when Pandora's Box was opened; there was no Famine, Hunger, Illness, Despair, Greed, Anger, Old Age, Frailty, Mental Illness, Pestilence, War or Discord. For the reward of a good life lived, the Isle of the Blessed stretched on seemingly infinitely, where those Blessed souls built their dream escapes to pursue leisure, learning and promote connectedness to all. Only the very best were permitted into this paradise – the most outstanding artists, builders, philosophers, thinkers, makers, workers, leaders and martyrs. An eternity of adventure awaited them. Lampades, those attendants of the Underworld that resided mostly in Elysium, provided the link between this enlightened world and the rest of the Underworld. They were everywhere in their white and gold robes, greeting most with a smile and a friendly wave while going about their business. They were usually beautiful nymphs with some sort of light they carried in one hand.

Hades and Macaria were well-known on the Isle. Macaria especially had friends everywhere in Elysium, both amongst the deceased and the immortals. She experienced a perfect visage of what Zeus's realm could have been like without the horrors that plagued it. As Hades breathed in the sweet air, he felt he completely understood his daughter's aversion to Zeus's realm. Here was the best of what it was supposed to have been – everyone equal and revered no cares for money or power, no conflict amongst the people. It was truly heavenly.

"Macaria!" Antigone called out. The two princesses – one immortal and one dead – were close companions in Elysium. Antigone had chosen to serve as a Lampade for a time and Macaria had greatly admired her for it. She knew little of her friend's suffering in life. "Macaria! Come and see!"

Macaria bowed to her father and went to join the Shade of the young woman. Smiling slightly, Hades watched her go. She wouldn't be a child for much longer, he knew. He doubted if she would get to the end of the season without obtaining her dominion from the Fates.

"Your wife visiting the living, my Lord?"

Hades turned to find that while he had been contemplating the fate of his daughter the dead philosopher Plato had managed to approach until he was almost at Hades's shoulder. Hades nodded to him. The philosopher and his mentor had a place in the Isle for them and their study of the infinite, including death itself. Hades had spent many days in contemplation alongside these great thinkers.

Plato gave him a conspiratorial look.

"It is the only time you take your leisure here," the dead Greek explained.

"I am struggling with the future through prophecy," Hades confided. "I needed somewhere to think."

Plato grinned.

"Time on the Isle functions differently," Plato acknowledged. "It bends and snares and races with the whims of us. Your will, my Lord, will make it stand still. What are you meditating over? Perhaps I can be of some service."

"Prophecy from the mouths of enemies," Hades admitted. "It is a foolish thing to ruminate on, I know, but it concerns my children yet-to-be."

Before Plato could respond, a Lampade stepped towards Hades and bowed low, sweeping her long dress behind her in a gracious movement.

"Apologises, my King," the nymph winced. "But the three Judges requested your presence as soon as possible. A family has died and their final deliberation is being argued by Zeus and Hera. They seek your counsel immediately."

Hades knew his Judges would have begged the Lampade to find him with all haste if Zeus insisted on becoming involved and declared he would be there momentarily. The Lampade nodded and ran off to serve.

Plato frowned, the lines in his face deepening around his beard.

"Family is continually complex," the philosopher muttered, almost as though he was observing this fact only to himself. "Particularly as one who must rule. Foremost, a ruler is a servant to his bloodline and his subjects."

"Let my daughter know of my absence," Hades ordered the dead Greek. Plato nodded in acquiesce and the Lord of the Dead reluctantly steeped from the warm, bright paradise where he could make time halt back into the realm he protected. Once the marble doors closed behind him and the shadows embraced his form, he transported himself to the Hall of Judgement.

Hades appeared in the throne customarily kept empty in deference to him. On a slightly lower setting beneath this throne sat the three Judges – Minos, Rhadamanthus and Aeacus. They met his sudden apparition with considerable relief.

"My King," Minos sighed. "Your brother Zeus ah… _Requested_ in the strongest possible wayyour personal judgement for this family."

Hades seated himself and shook his head.

"He came as close to giving an order in your kingdom as I have ever seen," Aeacus scowled, gesturing over the dais. "For this!"

Hades peered downwards to the Hall of those set for judgement. The Chamber of the Judges was vast and round, like the interior of the pantheon. There were twelve pillars – one for each of the Olympians that needed to be revered in life. In the centre of the circular chamber was a chair for the Judged to seat themselves on whilst the Judges deliberated. As Hades looked on, he saw that Hercules's wife Megara and her two young children, dead at seven and four years old, sat together on the seat to be Judged.

Hades examined their Shades carefully. All three bore the distinctive appearance of being ripped untimely from their mortal shells. Divine intervention had suddenly altered their fate dramatically, causing an early demise. From the looks of horror plastered on the faces of the children, it was apparent that it had been a violent and unexpected end.

Rhadamanthus explained as the God of the Dead peered at the woman clinging to her dead sons.

"Hera drove Hercules mad, my Lord. He envisioned that his wife and sons were his enemies and killed them all. You know what he's like; it probably took no time at all. Their lives were finished by Hera's jealousy before anyone could do anything. Zeus is all but demanding retribution and a place in Elysium for his son's family but they did not fulfil much of their life's purpose. Megara has some… less than desirable traits for a Blessed soul. Their fate rests with you whilst Zeus and Hera continue to argue."

Hades stared. Silently he reflected that Plato was right, family was always to cause difficulties.

"Hercules lives?" Hades clarified. The judges nodded.

"Zeus will commemorate him in the stars in his future," Aeacus added. "It is foretold."

Commemoration was an odd fate and only Zeus, in his role as Lord of the Skies, could properly turn a soul into a constellation although Hades knew of other sky-related deities who had completed the deed. It effectively elevated the dead Shades to the status of legend and they were able to skip the judgement of the Underworld entirely, never to have rest in Hades's realm at all. They became sky-bound immortals who could frequent the night only from the high heavens. But they could not converse with the living, they were not true Shades, they were cut off from everyone on their lofty perch in a pattern of stars.

Hades cogitated, watching the mother soothe her children with soft tones as they clutched her and shifted closer to her in her lap. The children of Hercules were innocents, dead before their time. He had no qualms with allowing them entrance to Elysium, as they were just victims of Hera's envy and had conducted themselves in life as well as they could. Megara's soul was harder to judge. Hades saw all of the woman's decisions, fears, intentions, hopes and deeds. Through each unkindness and every generosity she had shaped her Shade's final judgement. She was quietly mollifying her boys, holding them tightly while the tear-tracks shone on her face. But she was bearing her ordeal with patience or maybe it was just the shock of death that gave her such placidity. Megara had no attention for the Judges and did not attempt to beg. She appeared to focus on nothing but her children.

Hades decided.

"I decree to award this family entrance and eternal rest in Elysium for peace to remain across the realms," Hades announced. All there Judges shook as they felt the subtle vibration of distant thunder. Zeus wasn't pleased by the rationale but he had the verdict he wanted. A Lampade entered the chamber and escorted Megara and her children away.

Hades stifled a sigh of impatience. Zeus never could be content with good compromise. He and Hera would continue to bicker. He bitterly wished for Persephone at times such as this. She would know how to find a joke or some lightness to the ongoing feud between his brother and Hera, he knew. She could make the task of finding middle grounds in their squabbles seem not as tiresome as it was. An eternity of dealing with the consequences of his brother's quarrelsome marriage took its toll on one's patience.

Hades didn't even nod farewell before vanishing, a deplorable act of rudeness he would regret when he came out of his sour mood.

He retreated to his study. Once he had emerged from the shadows he quickly buried the titan's prophecy away where he couldn't see it to brood over it. The future would come and they would face it when it did. Instead of dwelling on what he couldn't alter, he pulled other work towards himself and threw himself in it. He tried to bury the niggling suspicion that Zeus had already determined the destiny of his son and it may not be pleasant. His family were a long line of kings frightened of their male decedents and the possibility of being overthrown. The Trojan War was just one of the consequences born of Zeus's paranoia that someone younger and more powerful could rise up to dethrone him.

Hades turned his attention to the task at hand and kept the terror at bay.


	4. Chapter 4

Death closed his eyes under his enormous black hood.

There were so many things that the living could never perceive. Like how light had music when it crested over the land. The slow pulse of a body as it pulled air in and out to push the blood through its veins. The taste of sweetness in ashes as they spun through the air. The fact that time, as it passed by, actually had a scent that was a little bit like flowers decaying.

Thanatos had always been set apart from most of the other immortals. The mortals said that he had many siblings but in truth, he had no family. Hypnos was a friend and sometimes co-worker, Nyx was a benevolent goddess who looked to him as the son she did not have but he was not blood-related to any of them. In truth, he wondered sometimes whether he had anything resembling parents or a family. He was one of the most ancient beings in existence and even Zeus would be hard-pressed to point to Thanatos as the child of one particular entity or another. Death simply existed and not even Death knew how that had come about.

With his eyes shut tightly, Thanatos could more clearly feel the intentions of the Fates. Their work in the Underworld called to him, drove him forward and eternally the snip of their scissors meant another job, another soul, another end to bring about. A snip, a sigh from the dying and then he would hold out his hand, beckoning the Shade to follow.

He felt it. That pull somewhere within his chest where his heart should be lodged; that tug that meant the Fates were pulling someone's thread of life tight in preparation for their end. Thanatos let himself be led and opened his eyes, pushed back his hood and held his scythe high.

There was a Greek demi-god lying before him in the dirt. This unfortunate hero was coated in filth, his clothes were little more than thin rags and some sort of disease had eaten at the side of his face. Soot blackened the man's hands. Mud dripped from the ex-hero's beard, which must have smelt awful judging by the colour of it. His skin was taut and as dry as old leaves. Exhaustion had battered away his soul until it was clinging to its mortal frame by the merest of threads.

The thread tightened. The Fates lifted their blade. Thanatos swung his scythe back in time with their movement.

The hero – Bellerophon – finally caught sight of Death standing over him. He smiled and relaxed against the earth.

"I prayed for you," Bellerophon murmured. "I thought… When I fell from Pegasus's back… That you would be there. But I offended Zeus and he crippled me. I have waited… I spent so long in anguish… I wanted to see you…"

The hero's eyelids fluttered and Thanatos swung. He was good at his work, the Shade came away clean. Bellerophon's mortal shell crumpled away, the thread of life was cut, and Death had made his mark at last.

Thanatos guided Bellerophon into the Underworld and pointed him to the line to judgement. The hero saluted Death and walked on his way, his penitence over the years finally complete. He would be judged fairly, Thanatos knew.

Death sighed. There was so much more to be done. There was always someone else on their last gasp. Sometimes, like with Bellerophon, the end was welcomed. They let go almost gracefully and he cut them away from Zeus's realm gently. But often this was not the case. There was sudden violence, there was pleading and begging and bargaining (Thanatos had never understood those who attempted to bargain, what was the point in offering Death anything from the world of life?), there was horror, there was grief and there was even anger. The mortals blended together over the centuries. Even the demi-gods which ichor moving under their skin seemed alike after long enough. They were just another client, just another Shade to move along, just one of scores of billions that Thanatos encountered.

Not that Thanatos minded. He was very much like Hades in that regard, the work gave him purpose and he did it to the best of his ability. He knew his own importance but he was not egotistical; Death quietly continued on his way. The world and all of its deities used him as a weapon, a threat, a punishment, a passageway and it was all the same to him.

If asked, he would have admitted that he liked the Underworld. There was an understanding there, a respect that was comfortable to him and the beings he felt closest to. Hecate often liked to amuse him in some way or another – her latest project was to read poems written to describe Death to him and ask him to correct any errors made by the author – and he did not mind her company. Besides, there was something in necromancy that was very similar to his own powers, only she preferred to raise what he had put to rest. Hermes was always a welcome sight. The Messenger God often was a helping hand to guide scores of dead to the Underworld. Nyx, Hypnos, Morpheus – the list of those who dwelled out of Zeus's realm treated him like family and encouraged him to socialise whenever there was an opportunity.

When Thanatos first met Hades, the three sons of Kronos had just divided their roles and the Underworld was beginning to function as a place of rest. The Lord of the Dead had welcomed him and sat him down to speak as an equal. Thanatos found the god had created Death his own throne, his own House and his own dominion within the Underworld.

"I don't need this," Thanatos had told Hades. "I don't need anything."

"I understand. But think to the future, for I am planning an eternal reign. What is it that you want?" Hades had asked, leaning over to press his point. Thanatos had felt the being's awesome power and knew instinctively that Hades was not afraid of him. Hades would never be afraid of him. The god had fought titans and finally come into his own and there was a sense of such _rightness_ in Hades and his monarchy that Death didn't even think to question.

The question had perplexed him and Thanatos had told Hades this. Death had no ambitions. Death knew the future to be much the same as the present. The god had nodded.

"I want you to understand that although my brother deems me God of Death, I will not reign over you. I control the judgement of the dead but I will not seek to command you." Hades gestured towards the construction of his kingdom. "The Shades are my subjects and I am their servant. I will reign over the delivery of justice. I serve Fate and the Fates serve out what they will."

"I don't want anything," Thanatos insisted. "I understand. I will obey you regardless, as lord of this realm. You don't need to give me anything to ensure that."

Hades had been silent for a long time.

"Then if you would like to come with me," Hades suggested. "I would seek your opinion on the instalment of my kingdom."

"I don't know anything of ruling." Death had fallen into step with the god without thinking about it. "I don't care what the Underworld looks like."

"But it is your home as well as mine," Hades pointed out. "I should like your company, if you can bear mine."

Ever since, Thanatos had been a little star struck by Hades. The god was very much like himself but there was an element of command to Hades that Thanatos knew he would never possess, a strength and dark charisma that Death neither had nor wanted. But it made him great company and the two men always treated each other as equals, despite Thanatos's claim that he would always treat Hades as lord. It was Hades he went to with his reflections on the nature of existence, it was Hades who he spoke to of his secret thoughts. Of all the beings who claimed to be Death's friend, none knew the being himself more so than Hades.

Death claimed another life – this one belonging to a greek woman who had eaten something spoilt and writhed in agony for days. She was afraid and cried when he took her hand.

Thanatos was also a great supporter of Persephone. The Elysian Mysteries had meant so many more peaceful deaths and celebrated the passage to the Underworld to begin a new existence. He had felt gladness when the issue around her being in the Underworld had been resolved and felt no resentment towards her for becoming Hades's closest confidant. Hades was noticeably more content with his wife at his side and at the start of his family. It seemed right to Thanatos that his friend should be rewarded with love – even if the concept and experience of love was entirely foreign to Death.

The Fates beckoned him to another soul, this time a young boy laying in a bed with a fever that he could not shake. His family were crowded around his bedside, weeping and offering to the gods for their son's release. Thanatos took his life and ended his pain. The physician relayed the bad news to the family and the boy's mother dropped to the floor as if it had been she, not her son, that had been severed from life. Death felt a kind of abstract pity for her that she thought she'd never see her boy again and was terribly mistaken. He guided the boy onward and left the scene quietly.

Thanatos knew what love was. Many mortals had claimed that love could conquer him, love could sway him, and love would outlast him. But as far as he knew, love was just a mechanism of life. Love continued life, gave it meaning and purpose as much as the Fates would allow. Just like happiness or sorrow or anything else could, love was a flavour for the mortals and immortals to experience along with their bodies and awareness and everything else. But there were lots of flavours and Thanatos had not got around to trying many of them. He witnessed and knew of the impacts of love vicariously but Eros had never thought to try and pierce him or it was simply not in his nature to feel love's sting.

He remembered slicing away the Shades of those fabled lovers Pyramus and Thisbe and marvelling at how powerful love was. Love it seemed could drive the living to acts beyond reason and command them to call on the arms of death, unable to imagine living whilst their love was somewhere else. The drive to survive was one of the strongest urges a mortal possessed but it could be overcome by love. Thanatos had watched the things parents would do out of love of their children and was amazed. Aphrodite and her children controlled something fierce indeed.

Death sighed. There was time enough in between deaths for a moment to himself. He touched his cold hands together and let his scythe slip away for a time. It could continue the work it was meant to do.

Cerberus wagged his tail and barked to see Death emerge from the door. Thanatos waved and threw the shaggy beast a treat. Cerberus caught it with its right head and the other two growled so deeply that the Shades below trembled. Thanatos walked past them all without letting them catch a glimpse of him.

Charon called a greeting but didn't linger for a conversation thankfully. His charges on the barge appeared eager to leave the shore and continue to the Halls of Judgement. Death had no need of a boat and let himself walk across the moving waters, which held him without effort. The Styx and he had an understanding; Death walked where it willed without hindrance.

The black sands and sounds of water hissing on fire were homely to Thanatos. But his solitude was robbed by someone charging across the sand after a small object that was resolutely flying before them. Behind the figure came Hecate, breathlessly laughing, all of her skirts flying as she ran to keep up with the spectacle. Death realised the figure at the head of the chase was Hades's daughter and stopped to watch her progress.

The object turned and she spun to follow it. She wasn't graceful but he admired her persistence - she was pumping her limbs to their limit to keep up with whatever it was. Before he knew what was happening the tiny object was speeding towards his chest and she was coming with it and then her gaze flickered upwards to his face and her eyes widened and suddenly…

There was a slight pressure like a nick at the centre of his chest. Thanatos looked down. It appeared to be a miniscule bit of glass, shaped like a teardrop, hovering in the centre of his chest. Death touched it, picked it away from himself.

Macaria had turned away to slow down in the slippery sand. Thanatos shot out an arm and she grabbed a hold to stop herself before she flew into the waters behind him.

"Sorry," she gasped. Her grip was tight and once her momentum stopped, she quickly let go. "Stupid thing." She met Death's gaze coolly. "My apologises."

"That's quite alright," Death told her, staring at the glass thing in his hand. It appeared to be some sort of brooch. "What are you doing?"

"Well, that's not surprising," Hecate called out from behind them both. "Looks like _death_ is in your future employment." The goddess doubled over again but this time with laughter. "It was a poor spell. I should have ruled out the obvious."

Macaria winced.

"I was trying to find the Fates, actually," she admitted with a guilty sigh. "I thought if I located the Moirae I could…" She appeared to catch herself and stood up straighter, eyeing Thanatos. "I am sorry. It is nothing more than a poorly-constructed spell and I should have made sure it did not hassle you."

Thanatos felt something like laughter brewing inside and stifled it. Macaria was trying so hard to be like her father and come into her principality that she was off in search of the Fates to find out what it was. He had to hand it to her – it was a novel approach. He hadn't heard of a princess simply asking fate what it wanted from her. Only someone like her, safe in the power of her kingdom, would ever dream of just marching straight up to the doors of Fate and banging on it until they got a straightforward answer.

Well, it may get results.

"That's alright," Death repeated to reassure her, handing her the brooch. But by the time she reached out and took it, there was a new set to her gaze. He felt faintly taken aback by her stare. It was her mother's look, the look that spoke of opportunity and appraisal. Thanatos didn't know what it meant.

"The fault is really mine," Hecate admitted. "Although to be fair, maybe if you'd told me what you were actually _trying_ to do…"

"Maybe it hasn't failed." Macaria's words were gentle, even lulling.

Hecate frowned.

"But Thanatos isn't…"

"You visit the Fates regularly," Macaria stated. Those two eyes were still locked on him, freezing him to the spot, sizing up his every movement. Thanatos was locked in place however, and gave nothing away.

"Indeed."

"Could you take me as a visitor?" Macaria requested, her eyes widening. "Please Thanatos? I won't stay long."

Hecate smiled. She examined the rings on one of her hands, avoiding Thanatos's silent plea to help him out of the dilemma. Finding no assistance, he was forced to meet the endearing gaze of the princess, who was actually moving towards him and pleading.

"Please?"

"Why not ask your father to take you?" Thanatos asked, trying to side-step the request.

"He is engaged in work and besides, you are here and visit them regularly. Your introduction may be just what I need to have the information I seek." Macaria actually took his hand and squeezed it gently, beseeching him. Her fingers were warm and very soft. "Please Thanatos. I promise not to be a bother to you. If they refuse my presence I will leave at once and not attempt this again, I swear."

She held him and Thanatos paused. The Moirae were not to be trifled with and he feared their retribution if Macaria was unwelcome. But there was nothing forthcoming from them, no instinctive tug at his gut warning him not to do as Macaria asked. There was no message at all, just that gentle squeeze on his hand and those eyes pleading with him. Technically, she was his king's daughter and could order him about if she chose to do so. But she wasn't ordering anyone – like her father, she respected Death enough to ask for his aid.

"Swear on the Styx?" he asked.

"I swear on the Styx I will not enter the presence of the Fates if they do not want me there," Macaria swore carefully, thinking through her every word.

Hecate pushed them together; Thanatos felt her hand dig into his back.

"Well, how lovely. Pop on down and say hello to the sisters from me!" Hecate giggled. Macaria was so close to him that he could have wrapped one arm around her easily. "I will monitor deaths until you get back. No rush. Take your time."

Thanatos almost scowled at her but was wary of the princess smiling gleefully at him on his arm.

"We shan't be too long," he assured the goddess. "Find me if something goes wrong."

"It will be fine!" Hecate patted Death on the top of the head in a manner that was almost motherly. Thanatos bit back a sharp retort and settled for nodding to Macaria that he would do as she wished.

The princess tucked herself against his body and held his arm tight. Thanatos felt awkward.

"Are you certain?" he asked, a last plea for her to attempt some other way of questioning Fate.

But Macaria was still and resolute. She met his gaze and nodded sharply.

"I have sworn," she reminded him. "You will not regret doing me this favour Thanatos. I will make sure of that."

Death sighed and let the darkness swallow them both. The last thing he saw was Hecate's cheery wave and shining eyes as she watched him depart with Macaria clutched close to his side.


	5. Chapter 5

The outcome of Paris's decision had repercussions far beyond that of the Trojan War. As Macaria and Death made their way to visit the Fates, a new wind was pushing a hero closer to his own prophesized future.

Aeneas was a demi-god, the son of Aphrodite and King Anchises. At the fall of Troy the handsome young man was pushed by his divine mother out of the city, who promised him that Zeus himself knew that he would found a new kingdom in a far off land. Omens and visions helped the young Aeneas escape carrying the household gods under his arm and his father on his back. Anyone who witnessed the triumph of the Greeks would have seen a trio of men slink away from the depleted city – Aeneas, his father and his small son Ascanius. His wife had been following their desperate progress but was lost and the men never saw her again.

But this was history for the hero, who had sailed many seasons towards their new future in a foreign land. Aeneas's son was now a man grown, his own father passed away and the two of them captains in a grand fleet being shown the way by the gods themselves. They had survived many dangerous tasks to reach this point of their journey and were hoping that the end may be near at hand.

They were fast approaching the Italian coast when the crew noticed the change in the winds.

"I don't like this," muttered the helmsman, a withered old seaman who had steered fleets from coast to coast since he could walk. "It's not right."

"What's not right?" Aeneas asked. "We have no way of knowing this coast. These winds could be seasonal."

The seaman shook his head so quickly he looked as though his whole body was shivering.

"There's more than one, for starters." The helmsman licked his hand and put it to head-height, feeling the breeze. "Best be praying there, captain. Maybe Poseidon can keep some of these beasts at bay."

Aeneas was always a warrior who was quick to respect the gods and to praise them for any success he enjoyed. He did as the helmsman bid and walked to the brow of his prize flagship, the only trireme he had left of his original warships. The water was already starting to froth and cut, huge waves moved in strange patterns that were already starting to rock the proud ship to and fro. He knelt and prayed to Poseidon to bring them to safe harbour, touching the bronze ram attached to the front of his ship that was shaped like the head of a horse to honour the god.

High above, the winds were arguing. Hera had promised them fabulous gifts in return for destroying one small Trojan fleet and they were more than a little divided by this.

"She just won't let it go, will she?" Eurus mused, the unlucky eastern wind that was starting to dip the shrouds of the fleet. "The war's over. Ended years ago. All mouldy history now for the mortals and immortals. But she finds some survivors and just _has_ to tear them to bits…"

"Will you hold your tongue?" Lips, the southwest wind, slightly smaller and lither than his brother, spat out. "Just get on with it, will you? This is the Queen of the Skies you're talking about!"

"And you're saying she's not bitter? Hmm? You see what I see. There's about fifty souls down there who have been through utter hell and survived. We're killing them off for her sport." Eurus flew about in agitated circles. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"No. What bothers me is that you're talking about pissing off Hera, one of the greatest goddesses there is." Lips almost crackled with anger at his brother's ignorance. "Get to it. There are other winds, other fleets, other days. I would imagine you would like to live to see them."

It was then that Eurus considered that Lips was terrified of disobeying Hera and that fear had to have come from somewhere. He considered prying but didn't, conceding defeat gently. Below them, the ships almost looked like insects crawling along a vast blue earth very slowly.

"First one to knock three flagships over?" Eurus ducked away, skimming nimbly through the air.

Lips scowled but nodded. The game was on.

Around Aeneas's fleet the waves became monsters within moments. The temperature dropped rapidly and the winds sliced at the crew and ships without mercy. Screams erupted, even from the hardiest of soldiers, when the ships began to bob and crest along gigantic waves. All they could see was the end – a watery grave far from shore or hope.

The helmsman was on his knees, trying desperately to steer a straight course by locking the rudder in place. Sweat and water streamed over his eyes. The deck groaned and around them all, the ocean answered with titanic roars. Aeneas saw the man's mouth move to form words but he heard nothing. He couldn't hear anything except water and wind and fierce nature trying to tear them all apart.

 _Poseidon, please. Please Lord of the Oceans, have mercy. Spare us this torment. Please guide us to safety. I will sacrifice anything you ask. I beg you, please. I was told I was to build a new kingdom of worship for you and the pantheon. I will honour you._

The light was dying, obscured by enormous thunderclouds. They weren't steady enough for torches; the men were falling prey to the darkness and confusion to fall overboard into the thrashing waters. Lightning flashed and then in the flicker of white light Aeneas saw a wave higher than anything, higher than the walls of Troy when it had stood proud, bearing down upon his little fleet.

 _Ascanius…_ Aeneas's hope for his son was swallowed by the sight of the behemoth about to devour them all. _I am so sorry my boy. I should have left you behind with your mother._

But then, a sigh. The wave fell gently, lapsing into the ocean as though someone had gently laid it down to rest. The water bobbed high underneath them but did not come crashing down onto the deck. As quickly as it had begun, the storm calmed.

Up in the sky, Eurus and Lips paused.

"What?" Eurus stared downwards, flummoxed by the sensation of his wind being snatched away. Lips swallowed. There were only four ships left in the fleet, two of them severely damaged. Some god was intervening to save the last of the mortals on this venture.

"We should go," Eurus urged his brother but Lips plummeted, seeking out the last of those that he had failed to drown.

The ocean seemed to surge up to meet Lips and in a flash, the god of the southwest wind was pulled screeching under the waves. Eurus watched him sink with wide eyes. Only Poseidon could have been powerful enough to still all of the sea and air without effort. He dared not fly lower but he hovered, hoping the god would show mercy on his brother.

A minute passed, maybe two, before a spout shot up amongst the still waters. Droplets showered down harmlessly on the surviving boats. Lips was flung high into the air, where Eurus swooped in and caught him under both arms. His brother stank of brine and seaweed.

Lips was heaving seawater, his face paler than usual.

"I'm guessing we leave?" Eurus prompted, holding his brother aloft. Luckily the wind wasn't a burden.

Lips just nodded, still dazed so Eurus carried him away without even a passing glance at the survivors of their storm. Hera had been thwarted but she could take it up with her brother-in-law. They were done here. Her vengeance could find another weapon to use upon the mortals she despised.

Down on the ships, the men had discovered the Libyan coastline and were limping towards it. Aeneas took stook of the survivors. Less than thirty of his own men had managed to stay on board his ship, when they had begun this voyage with a hundred that morning. He didn't want to imagine the numbers on the others.

As the light returned, the ships sent signals to each other. One of the helmsmen sent a message that Ascanius had lived. Aeneas was lightheaded with relief and took a moment before issuing his orders.

"Tell them to take it easy and steady, no one else is to succumb to the waters today. Have them paddle out on the smaller vessels to search for any survivors. And when they make dry land, all ships are to sacrifice to Poseidon for the fact that any of us managed to live this day."

Aeneas's men hurried off to spread the orders about. The demi-god sighed and wiped his face with a dizzying sense of relief and weariness.

 _How long must this go on before I am free of this prophecy?_


	6. Chapter 6

Macaria opened her eyes and stared in amazement.

She had never seen a rainforest, but if she had, that was where she would have guessed they had travelled to. Underfoot and overhead for further than she could see were ropes like vines, crawling up and over each other, winding around in circles and plummeting to the ground like giant tree trunks. The ground was entirely constructed of them, thousands upon thousands of individual threads of life, tied together and sprouting from one another. Macaria let go of Thanatos to stare at the one nearest to her head. Each individual strand was as thin as a hair on her head but there were just so many piled together that the tangle was thicker than rope. Underfoot was another of this design and at its thickest point it was wider than her arms could stretch.

"Are you alright?" Thanatos whispered, in that quiet voice that could only be produced by Death.

"It's absolutely incredible," Macaria breathed, careful not to disturb any of the intricately weaved tapestry around her. "How big is this place? Is it still part of the Underworld?"

"Over here!" a woman shrieked before Thanatos could answer. "Bring her over here into the light, Death. I want to see her!"

Macaria felt a twinge of relief that she was evidently expected but it was soon replaced by overwhelming excitement. She was going to see the Fates with her own eyes! She could scarcely believe it. Hades had mentioned that these beings were older than time and treated him as a little nephew but he had not spoken much to their character or their domain. She was to see it all for herself!

Thanatos held out a hand and Macaria took it, thinking he meant to help her walk over the mounds of threads but instead she blinked and they had moved in the shadows. She steadied herself and nodded her thanks to Death, before allowing herself to feast her eyes on the Moirae.

They were eerie beings for her to look upon. They seemed to be moving to music no one else could hear, each dance step perfectly synchronised without any obvious guidance. Clotho unwound a thread from amongst the pieces under her arms, this one a metallic kind of colour and not the predominant black, and her sister Lachesis immediately plucked it and teased it in a certain direction while Atropos sliced off a string high above them both. Their movements were so sure, so fleeting Macaria felt like she was in the presence of three superb musicians teasing out an entire score with their instruments. How fast they moved! It took concentration just to follow them individually in the gloom.

 _How long have they been here?_ The thought came to her with something like panic. _Just how long have they been spinning these threads for?_ The answer was something so unfathomable that it rooted the princess to the spot.

Atropos smiled kindly at her while she stood there dumbstruck.

"Macaria, dear. Welcome to our home." Atropos laughed and the jacket full of pockets rode up and down on her chest. "Why sisters, she looks very much like her father when he was but a baby!"

Macaria remembered her manners and sunk into a quick curtesy.

"Th-thank you," she managed to stutter out. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you."

Clotho, the youngest of the Moirae, suddenly had her by the shoulders and was appraising her with something like glee in her ancient face. Macaria realised all the pupils of the Fates were white as milk. Clotho's touch was like old cloth – impossibly soft and almost dusty in texture. Her hands were somehow warm.

"We have been waiting for you to pop in, dearest," Clotho confided. "You're growing up so quickly and we need your help."

Thanatos shifted beside her but Macaria's attention was fixated on the impossibly old being before her. He said nothing.

" _My_ help?"

Clotho spun her around and pointed over Macaria's shoulder towards the tapestry.

"See our work before you. The lights are the gods and goddesses, their power beaming through the world and touching everything in their principality. The consequences of being too close to that light have affected the mortals and produced the halflings, you see? Those coloured threads are coated with ichor, the children of the divine and the earthly."

Clotho's pungent voice in Macaria's ear dropped until it was almost a deep whisper.

" _Change_ the way of the immortals. They cannot change themselves but they create change, with their life in the centre point. You understand? Change can be good, bad or ineffective. The universe beyond is indifferent; Fate continues on."

"But see here!" Lachesis slashed out at something with a reel of threads. Macaria watched as some sort of liquid, almost like oily pus, oozed from the ground and started to devour the string. It made her feel sick without her quite understanding why.

"What is that?" Macaria asked.

Lachesis faced her, wiping the muck from the threads as best she could to salvage the string.

"The titans," Clotho answered. "Theirs is not the way of change but of destruction. There is no potential for a future for the mortals if their poison spreads. Too much of their sludge and the threads of life will be destroyed. Too many fumes from this destruction and we will lie down in a sleep like Death and all will be lost. Fate will end. Everyone will perish."

"We have to tell my father…" Macaria began but Clotho squeezed her shoulder gently and stopped her words.

"He has discovered some of this for himself but sweet child, he is so frightened for you and your siblings that he may not act the way he needs to. He may falter to do what is necessary. When the time comes, it will be your brother who decides the Fate of all and your father cannot interfere."

Lachesis approached Macaria and touched her forehead gently with three fingers. The princess closed her eyes and felt something stir, knowledge raw and powerful, at the base of her mind. She held out her arms and power, glistening and hot, poured from her heart and shot out to her fingertips.

"Goddess of Blessed Death," Lachesis named her. "Leader of the Lampades and Guardian of the Isle of the Blessed. Warden of Elysium. First child of Hades and princess of the Underworld."

Macaria felt her power ebb and opened her eyes. She stood glowing amongst the black, her gown the white and gold of the Lampades, soft white light shining from her palms. She let it fade so it wouldn't hurt the eyes of the Fates. She stood taller and realised that indeed, this was quite literal – she appeared to have grown at least a few more inches and become a young woman in full. A circlet wound across her upper right arm and Macaria examined it. Her name was inscribed, together with a tiny picture of the doors to Elysium opened to reveal a shining lantern. Her seal. It was official.

The goddess clasped her hands and bowed slightly to each of the Moirae.

"How will I know what to do?" she asked Clotho, the last of the Fates that she paid homage to. She marvelled that even her voice had changed slightly, in the ascension to her godhood.

The Fate of Beginnings just smiled. Macaria swore she spotted a tear in the ancient eyes before Clotho blinked and it vanished.

"You will," she promised. "You are Blessed Death. You will know so much more." Clotho touched Death gently on the elbow. "And you will have a magnificent teacher in the ways of Death, eh? Thanatos himself! He will show you the way between Fates to grant that most precious gift upon new Shades."

Macaria bowed again, this time to her new teacher who stood rigid and impassive.

"It will be an honour to learn," she told him, searching under the lip of his hood for any kind of reaction. But Death gave nothing away.

"So it is foretold," Lachesis laughed. "Ah, it has been a pleasure to meet you at last, little Macaria. Be strong now for your family. Say hello to your father from us."

The new goddess bit her lip. "I must speak of these things to him. He is my father and the lord of our realm. Surely he will understand the threat of the titans better than anyone?"

Clotho nodded her head solemnly.

"He will but he is new to fatherhood, child. You and your yet-to-be siblings are so precious to him that it may – and note, I am not certain for sure – it _may_ cause him to falter."

"We cannot risk that," Atropos agreed. "But speak your mind. It will alter nothing. He may have wisdom for you."

Death held out his arm silently and Macaria took it, eager to begin her instruction. The fears of the Fates were secondary while she was a brand new immortal. The tug of power in her veins was a heady feeling. She understood more of her mother's cautions against mortals transforming into immortals – at least she was the daughter of two godly beings! Imagine the strangeness of suddenly having this fire within you and the will to reshape the world.

Death's arm was cool and she wrapped both of her own around it eagerly.

"Concentrate," Thanatos uttered. "This is something you will need."

Macaria frowned. The Moirae gathered close to them and she felt something prick her elbow. Gasping, Macaria turned but Thanatos had already drawn the shadows closely around them. All she saw before they were transported was Clotho's face, her shining and sightless eyes staring at the pair of them with something long and golden in one of her hands.

Macaria could have sworn it had looked like an arrow.


	7. Chapter 7

The shoreline was unlike anything Aeneas had ever seen. It was harsh white rock and finest sand, so like marble that he had knocked his fists on it many times to try to break the illusion but always it crumbled away in his hands. The ocean was perfect Mediterranean blue as far as they could see and deceptively shallow. What was left of the fleet sunk in the sands, beaten old husks buried in something so fine it was like sugar in appearance. There were no animals to be seen but the fishing was plentiful. Somehow the air was still and sweet at the same time, something the hardened sailors of their group found a little unnerving.

Forced to walk along this shore, Aeneas told the remaining crew to build shelter while he prayed. He knew he would walk until he could walk no farther to build the new empire foretold in his dreams, for he owed the gods and goddesses above no lesser glory. But which direction was he headed? Where would he drag his son and his people next?

The hot sand was slippery and the sounds of men sighing as they laid down to dry out their drenched clothes were not conducive to his prayer. He needed quiet and calm, steady earth. Ascanius touched his shoulder.

"I will walk a little, but not far," Aeneas reassured him. "Stay safe."

"And you," the young man told him but to his credit, Ascanius did not argue. Aeneas took up his knife and water and walked away.

The land in from the shoreline was somewhat peaceful. There wasn't much to it as far as he gazed – just white on white, reflecting the brilliance of the sun. Some clusters of palm trees stood, brave sentinels in amongst all of that endless white. He couldn't even perceive the edges of cliffs or where the sand dipped and rose. It would be cautious going, wherever they were headed.

Aeneas sighed. To raise an empire for the gods was no simple ask of any mortal. The burden rested heavy on his shoulders. It would be easy just to lie down and let the sun and the heat do its work…

Something shimmered so brightly that Aeneas had to cover his face. Blinking behind his fingers, he tried to stare around the flickering light. But he blinked again and the brilliance had gone. In its place was a little dove.

A dove! Aphrodite's bird, the white dove, his mother's own messenger. Aeneas dropped to his knees.

"Forgive my weakness, mother. Please, I beg you. Guide me," he whispered and the dove took flight. He watched it soar into the blue sky where it was clearly visible and slowly trudged after it. He had no fear while Aphrodite guided his steps.

Only a few minutes later he heard distant sounds echoing towards him. Voices! Aeneas paced faster ahead and heard shouts, something rolling along, heavy booms and the unmistakable noise of timber being hammered together. He raced after the dove and they mounted the crest of a hill together.

Below, nestled under the protective shelter of several rises were the beginnings of a city. Heavily under construction, Aeneas was amazed to find Greek shouts and exclamations from the site. A collection of Greeks so far into Africa building a new colony? It was an impressive surprise. But he saw the distinctive purple togas of those surveying the new buildings and realised his mistake – they weren't any normal Greeks, these people must be Phoenicians of some kind.

It gave him fierce hope. The Phoenicians had been only marginally involved during the war and it was long over, Troy had fallen and it was unlikely that there would be any grudges here. The dove fluttering above his head gave him courage and he approached the site, determined that they should welcome him and his crew.

The welcome was warmer than he could have hoped for. The citizens were people who had fled prosecution in Tyre and their ruling Queen empathised with the plight of the Trojans. He was given an escort back to the ruined remains of his ship with the good news that all they were invited to the fledgling city for dinner and somewhere to rest until they could continue their travels in safety. The crew cheered mightily when he delivered the news.

They entered the soon-to-be city of Carthage with broad grins and genuine cheer, relieved by their turn of fortune. Aeneas made a sacrifice to Aphrodite, thanking her for the respite in this budding city with a ruling power that would not cause them further grief. It was truly a gift from the goddess that they had been wrecked on the Libyan coast so close to this developing kingdom.

Carthage was rudimentary but even so the soldiers and sailors were pleased to rest on dry land. Aeneas and Ascanius were invited to dine with the Queen herself. Ascanius took his father aside before the Queen's servants were to escort them to her pavilion.

"Father, is this it?" Ascanius almost had a pleading look on his face. "Was the prophecy for you to help this Queen build her city?"

Aeneas hated to disappoint his son but there was no escaping the truth of the matter.

"This is not the place we seek," he admitted wearily. "In Troy, when the war was raging at the gates I heard the gods and goddesses speak to me. Their dreams were vivid. I will know it when I see it." He caught Ascanius's crestfallen look. "I am sorry."

"I just don't understand!" Ascanius reflected bitterly. "We have come so far. So many times on this voyage we could have lost our lives. We have seen monsters and braved horrors I didn't think existed outside of stories. We have taken a curse from a Harpy. And still we move on!" He rubbed his face with a hand, crumpling his hair in his misery. "Why must destiny always be such a… a near-impossible venture! We _could_ raise Carthage. Many of us are skilled craftsmen and hard workers. The foundations are laid here. This _could_ be our calling, if the gods and goddesses saw fit to give it to us."

Aeneas saw the servants approaching and clapped his son on the back.

"Courage boy," he urged. "When we are sent to the Underworld we can be proud of life's journey and how we fought every obstacle. We can only be _worthy_ by facing insurmountable odds." Aeneas waved the servants over. "But you could choose to stay and help raise Carthage, if you wish. If you choose another path than mine, I will not hold it against you."

"I can't," Ascanius told him immediately, without hesitation or disdain. "My place is with you."

They let go of their discussion as the servants beckoned them forward. Aeneas tried to relax and enjoy the spectacle around him of half-constructed dwellings and pavilions, of gardens not yet filled, of structures completely unknown save for the stones marked out for where it would lie. Ahead, the night whispered of music and laughter, the smell of fine foods was mouth-watering.

"Enjoy your evening," bid a servant as they drew the doors aside to admit the Trojans.

Inside the royal pavilion was decadent. Clearly, this had been the first place constructed; there was not a pillar out of place. In the far corner, musicians played behind a gauze curtain. Traditional Greek couches in the shape of a 'U' were set out for the Trojans and the Queen. It was modest next to Troy or Dardania but it was not drab or uncultured either. The rugs were thick skins of some enormous cat that Aeneas had never seen before, with an astonishingly patterned pelt.

Queen Dido reclined in the most prominent position on the couch. At the arrival of Ascanius and Aeneas she smiled and both Trojans faltered a little. Aeneas was aware that they were windswept, beaten, ill-shaven and dishevelled from their travels thus far. Queen Dido looked both beautiful and resolute, a ruler relaxed in a comfortable place in the world. She greeted them both amiably.

Aeneas sat opposite the monarch and studied her carefully. He ignored the colour of her hair or the perfection of her skin and instead tried to pierce a little deeper than her appearance. Appearances could be deceiving but there was nothing that immediately inspired disgust or fear in him for Queen Dido. She was tough, that much he could discern. The turn of her head and the way she stared at them both was testament to her confidence but she didn't betray any arrogance he would associate with the proud, peacock-like royalty he had met. There was cleverness to her grin. Her warmth seemed sincere.

"Please," Queen Dido told them both. "Eat and drink. There is plenty of night for the stories of your travels."

Ascanius assented with murmured thanks before proceeding to eat as much as he could. Aeneas noted with some amusement that his son managed to keep his table manners despite wanting to almost inhale everything set before him.

"Perhaps, gracious Queen," Aeneas suggested. "You could do me the honour of enlightening us. I have heard much from your devoted subjects but I am still in the dark as to how Carthage came about."

She laughed delicately. "It is an amusing tale. I shall entertain you thus while you eat." She saw that their plates were refilled and their glasses heavy before she began. "You may have heard of my father, the late King of Tyre? King Belus? He was a wonderful father and wise ruler, always clever in his way. Generosity was my father's foremost virtue, to his subjects and family. He missed my mother terribly when she died giving birth to me. He cared very much for the welfare of my brother Pygmalion and myself. In some ways this made him quite oblivious to some of our faults – my brother was always quick to take advantage of the bounteousness of my father." She took a sip of her wine, gently swirling it as she did so. "When he became ill and elderly, he decreed that my brother and I should hold equal power over Tyre and rule as partners after he died."

Aeneas was astonished. "How did he picture that to work?"

Dido shrugged and laughed again but it was short and harsh. "I don't believe he thought it through. The line of ascendancy would have been a nightmare. I had a husband at the time, a man I had chosen for myself and I believe that perhaps my father wanted us to rule but could not bring himself to cut Pygmalion out of the royal throne altogether… But perhaps it was just his nature that he believed we could share. Perhaps he just wanted both of us to share his legacy and strengthen the kingdom."

"He must have been an incredible man."

Dido smiled. "He was indeed. But no sooner had he passed and the start of the mourning period began that my brother decided he would act to seize power. He murdered my husband in cold-blood, like a true coward. He came after me and anyone loyal to my claim to the throne. But I had an escape ready. I had not counted on Pygmalion going after my husband first and that was unfortunate but otherwise we managed to leave to journey here. Any followers of my claim have migrated also from Tyre in the months that began my brother's rule. I have no desire to return to Tyre. Carthage shall be mine to build and to nurture into brilliance."

Aeneas congratulated her. "But I still do not understand how Carthage came about? You say you landed in Africa and that is self-evident but wouldn't this land belong to some African ruler?"

Dido nodded and she gestured for the servants to take the course away. "There still is. His name is Iarbas. He gave me the land after we made an agreement."

"A marriage?"

It was the logical assumption but Dido slowly shook her head. She seemed just a little smug as she leant forward to tell him the truth.

"We fled with very little and I was newly grieving my dead husband. Iarbas sheltered us much as we shelter you now, fresh from the tumult of the ocean. I begged and I pleaded for a small piece of land, anything to begin to make my new home. I told him of our plight. My people rallied behind me and made tearful pleas to move the hardest heart. Iarbas was not generous though; I thought he would move us on. But one night he promised a solemn oath that I could have a piece of land – as much as the hide of a bull could cover. He gave me the hide from a good sized beast and laughed. But I persisted. I made him make a solemn oath by his gods and mine. I made his people witness it. Then I slit the hide into tiny strips – my women sliced them as finely as the thread they weave – and then I outlined what would become Carthage with the tiny bits of hide end to end. The beast must have been impressive in life. Thanks to the skills of my women, the land piece was quite large and more than suited to our needs."

Aeneas laughed with delight at her intelligence. Even Ascanius managed a snort of surprise, distracted form his feast for a moment by the Queen's impressive strategy.

"I doubt Iarbas was pleased?" Aeneas prompted, hoping she would continue the story.

Dido realigned her toga with a flick of her fingers.

"No he was not but he had sworn and his people held him to that oath, as did mine. We have settled into an unsteady peace. No doubt he is plotting war but we bring trade and prosperity to his region, together with many of the skills that made Tyre great. He will not turn us out with so much profit being brought to his doorstep."

She touched Aeneas gently on the shoulder with her fingertips. Her smile was inviting. He noticed the exquisite green colour of her eyes for the first time that evening.

"But I see that you have eaten much of your fill. Now, pray tell, what brings you to my shore?"


	8. Chapter 8

Thanatos and Macaria materialised quietly next to the River Styx together.

Death watched the princess take stock of the change and marvel at herself for a moment. She was astonishingly radiant – just like the doors to Elysium. The light she exuded from within was almost painful but it would be useful to her. Like Thanatos, she would now walk in between all realms, never setting foot in either completely but creating a pathway between. The exception to this may be when she was in Elysium itself as its ruler but Thanatos didn't know for sure if she'd ever below to any one place. Like Death, she was now a part of all and nothing simultaneously.

He moved to take up his scythe and resume his work but stopped as she gasped.

"Are you hurt?" Death stared at her in puzzlement but to his relief her eyes were wide in amazement, not pain.

"I can… feel souls?" she whispered and Thanatos recognised her astonishment as a revelation to that tug and release of Shades as their last moments came and went. He offered her his arm again, eager to show her how to release the dying Shades. She wrapped her own shining brilliance around his darkly cloaked arm and they felt the pull of Death together.

They alighted in the middle of a town square, in what was clearly a newly developing city. A pyre burning high in the centre of the square marked the death of somebody important, shining out into the darkness. The sobbing of women echoed out into the growing night. Thanatos pointed to the highest residence and Macaria materialised them both inside, closer to the Blessed Death she would bestow.

A beautiful woman lay prostrate on the ground, a sword deep into her chest. Her clothes lay askew all around her, as though something had wrenched them apart to access her breast. Blood ran thick and black under her fingernails and along her neck where she had clawed at herself in her distress. Although in agony, tears of joy ran down her face when Death approached and showed Macaria how to softly, deftly relieve the Shade of the woman from her life.

"Be at peace now," Macaria urged her. "Your trials in life are over."

It was clear to Thanatos that the woman had committed death by her own hand. He had seen many who rejected life, feeling it had lost all meaning and purpose and instead summoned him forth by various means.

The queen's Shade was sorrowful on seeing her corpse on the floor.

"Carthage will never be raised now," she mourned, taking one last look at her developing city with something approaching regret. "And I shall not stop loving him. Even though he chose to leave. Aphrodite has cursed me for presuming to love her son."

Thanatos made way for the Shade to approach the Underworld and Queen Dido stepped away regally, her head bowed.

"She will not be adjudicated worthy of Elysium," Macaria sighed, her mouth turned down with chagrin. "Sorry. I misjudged."

Thanatos frowned slightly, his face largely hidden by his hood.

"You can make a judgement outside of the Underworld?" he queried. As far as he was concerned, he and Macaria were just passageways so that the dead could receive the justice in death in the Hall of Judgement from others. But Macaria gave him a confident grin that stopped him.

"I am the giver of Blessed Death," she announced. "I can create a pathway straight to Elysium for the truly noble and pure of heart. There are some worthy souls now who deserve their peace faster than through the Courts. Such is the task given to me by Fate."

"Creating passages to the Isle of the Blessed should be done with caution," Thanatos offered. He didn't know how he felt about the free pass straight to paradise but he couldn't argue with her interpretation of her duty. She was Blessed Death. She had achieved her mandate directly from the Fates. He admired her boldness.

"I know," Macaria ribbed. "I am my father's daughter."

 _Straight to work,_ Thanatos mused. _Hades was never one for emitting golden light, though. She is something quite different._

"Can you take me to the next death, if I know which one I need to arrive at?" Macaria asked him petulantly. "My aim is a little off."

Thanatos urged her to let go of his arm for a moment. He showed her how to pull back the folds of her robes until most of her arms were bare, to pull back her hair as he did his cloak to expose his senses to the quiet hums and vibrations of fate working all around them. He held his palms face up and closed his eyes, looking within.

"Do not let yourself be guided so much," he instructed carefully in his still, quiet voice. "Let your thought follow the sensations of endings, until you can almost tell where the next slice of thread will come from."

It was there, the turn of time and Fate, like a heartbeat that shuddered through everything. But it was subtle and if Macaria couldn't tune into it, she would be forever chasing around and bestowing her blessing too late.

He opened his eyes to watch her. Macaria had steadied herself admirably, letting her shoulders drop and her eyes close. She held her hands as he had – waist-height and palms upwards. Macaria's glow was rather distracting for him, however. Thanatos wondered if she could let herself anticipate her next location to release a Shade while shining like a small sun.

Her eyes flickered, and then opened. She was staring far beyond and he grabbed her hands in his own. Macaria moved them both gracefully in between the realms in a shining flash.

Thanatos peered at where she had taken them. They were by the seaside, although the beauty of Poseidon's realm was always a little lost to him, as standing between worlds made everything dark and grey – the monotone of limbo. Macaria deftly negotiated the rocks to locate her target – an old Greek woman lying underneath a great elm tree.

The woman was struggling feebly, her breath failing due to her age. Macaria gently leant down next to her and murmured into her ear. As Thanatos watched, the woman sighed her last and her Shade came free gracefully. Macaria shot one look of triumph at Death who nodded his acknowledgement of her skill.

"Will Odysseus be waiting for me in Elysium?" the Greek queen asked softly.

"He will greet you at the gates, I have no doubt," Macaria offered considerately as she and Thanatos opened a passage for Penelope, the faithful and clever wife of Odysseus. "Go now and be at peace."

Penelope clasped her hands together and strode into the shining lights that led to the Isle of the Blessed. Macaria watched her depart and stood next to the corpse, grinning at Thanatos.

"Come with me a little longer? Just to make sure I've got this right?" she cajoled in that same sweet and determined way that had seen him escort her to the Fates. Thanatos was even stunned to note that she laid a hand on him, pleading with her gracious touch, urging him onwards.

Death was flummoxed. His solitude had been stolen from him and he had actually spectated whilst another performed the removal of a life yet it he wasn't perturbed in the slightest. He reflected silently that delegation was a good thing and less work for him meant a faster process for souls to find their place in the Underworld.

"Your father might wish to celebrate your ascension, though?"

Macaria scoffed at herself.

"Perhaps," she admitted. "But there is no point in marking the occasion if I can't do the job."

Thanatos nodded at her logic. As he did so, he noticed that his cloak had moved to show a tiny hole on his chest. He stopped and discreetly checked that it did in fact go through to his skin. He was stunned to release there was a miniscule scratched wound on his chest.

 _What happened to cause this?_ Thanatos ran his hand over the fabric of his cloak, mending it with his will. The wound was not painful or deep but it had definitely broken his flesh and what was more, somehow penetrated through his cloak of Death. He had thought it impassable. _When did this happen?_

"Is that alright?" Macaria interjected, misreading his silence as hesitation. "I will return to the Underworld, if it is preferable to you. I'm sure my father could show me my tasks as well…"

Thanatos shook his head and pulled his hood back to cover his eyes.

"There are some secrets in liberating Shades that I doubt your father will have time to teach you," Death whispered. "Come with me, if that is your wish."

Macaria stared and held his gaze. She was lovely and full of brightness in her expression and in her body that was mesmerizing. Thanatos blinked, slightly dazzled.

"I wish," she confirmed with a breathtaking smile. Thanatos backpedalled into the shadows where he was more comfortable, trying to escape the dazzling aura of the new goddess. He gripped his scythe and refused to reach out and take her hand as they had been doing throughout their journeys. Instead she vanished and he let himself follow a little behind.

 _What is happening to me?_


	9. Chapter 9

Aeneas couldn't see for grief.

Every time he tried to lift his head, the weight of his desertion pulled his neck downwards. He'd been staring at the planks of the deck for the longest time but always through the hazy glow of bitter tears. When he tore his thoughts away from the Queen they fell into mournful longings. He wished his mother would send him another sign. He wished Hermes had never found him staying for months with Queen Dido, overlooking his duty to the gods and goddesses by enjoying her company instead of travelling to meet his destiny.

She'd killed herself when the men had cast off. The last of his ships had sent word.

The Olympians had punished him for his negligence.

Ascanius was sailing on the second flagship. His son had given him no words of reproach, no commentary on the decision to dally with the Queen in Carthage. He'd watched his father love this woman they had found – disregarding his own mother – and not uttered a word of protest. Aeneas was ashamed that he was afraid of asking for his son's honest opinion. What was done was done, and now Aeneas didn't have the courage to question his own actions even after so many repercussions.

"Sir!" the helmsman shouted. "We go ashore at the next safe inlet. This coast is full of pirates. I dare not go further in this light."

Aeneas merely nodded and grimaced at the lead weight of guilt and regret churning inside him, as tumultuous as the ocean.

To raise a new city for him and his men, the prophet who has bespoke this task set by Fate had been clear. He needed expert guidance; else the fledging nation would crumble and fall as Troy had. The Temple of Apollo housed the most esteemed prophetesses and sibyls in the whole world, as Apollo was the god of augury and foretelling. Aeneas remembered with a flash the poor child Cassandra at Troy, who has spurned Apollo's advances and was punished with the ability to foretell accurately but that no one ever believed her.

 _Prophecy is the root of madness for the mere mortal,_ he reflected. He wondered if his meeting Queen Dido had been Fate or some god's ill intent towards his destiny. For it was a kind of madness that he had fallen so hard and so fast for a woman who he barely knew, and he was aware of the folly he had committed himself to. But by Aphrodite herself, he had loved Dido. _Love is further proof of insanity._

Now she was gone and there was nothing left for him to do but to forge ahead.

 _I will not lose my way again. I cannot._ Aeneas feared incurring the wrath of Olympus on his son or his crew. Particularly Ascanius – he did not know if he could live on if his son did not. _I will follow my guide wherever they lead me without hesitation or question. This is the will of the divine. I cannot shirk my duty again._

The fleet made it safely to harbour and sacrificed with thanks to Poseidon. Aeneas told the party that he and Ascanius would march before dawn to the Temple of Apollo to bear witness to the rising of the sun and to receive their guide to the new city. He told the men honestly that he did not know what lay yet in store for them, but he would not lose focus again and they would soon be living the lives they were promised by destiny. There was a cheer all around the fire as the men reaffirmed their faith in him. Ascanius alone was quiet.

As they retired to sleep, Aeneas poured his son some wine and bade him drink. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the ocean outside, safe in the confines of their tent. It was almost peaceful.

"I liked her," Ascanius admitted suddenly, swallowing hard. "It's a shame."

Dido was gone. His father scowled into the darkness at the tears that prickled anew, despite the wine.

"She was…" Aeneas began but words failed him. There wasn't any one way to sum up that unfortunate woman. He was still thinking of Cassandra and the results of angering a god. How could he describe what happened to either woman as anything other than their Fate? Any other words would mean questioning the will of the gods and that was not something he could ever do.

"I didn't understand what you meant when you told me that this was Fate," Ascanius said slowly. "In the stories… Well, I mean, I know Troy fell. That was fated too. This just feels different, somehow. I don't know." Aeneas heard his son in the darkness take a long swig of wine. "This is hard."

"The gods always demand much of us to inspire greatness in our future," Aeneas told him, not for the first time but the words had a different weight to him now. Both he and his son had learnt that the price they had to pay continued to rise and the cost of stepping outside of the agenda for a moment was severe.

Both of them thought of Hermes, alighting in the temple erected to the gods in Carthage, demanding that they get in their ships and depart. The Messenger God had told them in no uncertain terms that Zeus himself had set this task before them and that Carthage was not their future. Events needed to transpire. The Temple of Apollo at dawn lay before them. They had fallen to the floor in rapture and the winged god had left in a flash of brilliance that had dazzled people for miles around them. They had obeyed – what else could they do but obey?

The night fell on them like a heavy coat – thick and uncomfortable. Aeneas shook Ascanius awake just before Eos traversed the skies above and together they stood, shivering in the last air of night.

The Temple was not far but it was high above the shore. Its great pillars overlooked the mountains, set back a little from the sea for the god was fond of the long hills and the bright sky – not Poseidon's dominion. Gold inlay across the name of the Temple portrayed the many deeds of Apollo – feats of healing and music, of poetry and culture that would catch in the light of day to burn almost as brightly as the sun.

They climbed in the near pitch-black before sunrise. Aeneas and Ascanius were both reasonably sure of foot and aided with rope but even so, it was treacherous work. The gods saw them safely to the top before the allocated time. Aeneas thanked his mother Aphrodite for seeing them to this point.

Light trickled amongst the stars and shimmered on the horizon. Helios had taken to his chariot and followed Eos out of Olympus to bring the day. As the void above them turned from black to blue and the sun rose orange on the ocean, a woman within the Temple called out their names.

Aeneas opened the front door of the Temple and trembled. The walls seemed to whisper of something unfathomable. It was still dark, but overhead tendrils of sun were beginning to sneak inside through the columns. He did not put a toe over the threshold, not certain if they were permitted to enter this Holy of Holies.

"Show yourself, for we are those Trojans you call by name, seeking guidance to fulfil our Fate!" Aeneas called out into the gloom.

There was movement but it was feeble and Aeneas could have sworn it was just his eyes playing tricks. He called again, louder, and Ascanius clutched his arm.

"The sibyl," Ascanius breathed in his ear. "She's waking."

Aeneas had seen many ancient things in his life. He had stood on the walls of Troy, impossibly high and wondrous, that had been there for longer than the written word and was allegedly the work of a god. He had found relics and wandered in forgotten places that had been in existence for generations before him. But the withered, cooing thing in the dark reeked of age and stagnation. She was alive, that much was sure, but she was so crippled by age that Aeneas despaired her making it to the doorway let alone guiding them anywhere.

But as she leant forward and laboriously started to rise from her seat, the light rays caught her. And while Aeneas couldn't be sure, he seemed to perceive that it was the sunlight that gave her vitality. She wasn't regaining her youth by any means – her long white hair cascaded down past her knees and her tiny limbs had little muscle on them – but her movements became faster and more certain as the light illuminated her.

But the time day had arrived she stood in the doorway, her hair trailing behind her like a veil. The sibyl was hundreds of years old and her eyes were silver but she stood tall and thin, her pale lips without the hint of a tremble.

"I am Deiphobe," she told them and Aeneas was relieved to hear the strong, if raspy voice of a determined woman. "I have listened to the words of Apollo, who sings of your new city. I will guide you forward in your journey, to the realm of the Underworld and out the other side."

"The realm of the Unseen One?" Ascanius hissed in horror.

"What must I do?" Aeneas asked, sinking to his knees. There was no going back.

"We must take a gift for Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld." Deiphobe looked down on him with stern eyes. "The Unseen One does not permit many mortals to enter his realm alive but his Queen is merciful and it is her charity and grace that will lead us forward in this venture."

Ascanius dropped to one knee beside his father, trying to shake him out of the daze his father seemed to have fallen into staring at Deiphobe in the sunlight.

"The realm of the Dead? Is this true? By Zeus himself, how will we make it through with the men? Father, please! This is not possible! You must stop!"

 _I cannot look back now. There is no going backwards from this._

"Sibyl, I will follow where you lead," Aeneas pledged. "To the Underworld if I must."

"This is the will of the gods," she stated plainly, without judgement in her voice, without any kind of inflection. Aeneas admired her already. No doubt she had lost people too, seen who generations die around her and been forced to endure for this moment. Aeneas wished he had her fortitude and resolution. She seemed to emanate an otherworldly peace that he wished he had.

Ascanius went quiet. Aeneas assumed he was affected by her resolve too.

"Lead the way."


	10. Chapter 10

Eventually Macaria had some confidence in her abilities and consented to return to her father's House to share the happy news of her ascent to the status of goddess. Hades was overjoyed, so much so that he hardly noticed Thanatos slip away, uncharacteristically agitated. Death was grateful that his King was so preoccupied.

Thanatos touched the wound on his chest and felt its power grow warm. It had pierced him deeply, this seemingly insignificant scratch and with growing dismay he realised what it had marked him with. Love. Devotion. Adoration. Eros's golden arrows could be wielded by the Fates if they so choose, but Thanatos had never heard of them wounding anyone directly before.

By the gods of Olympus, they had struck him with love for her! Macaria instantly the centre of the Underworld's attentions, shining with that brilliance and basking in the congratulations from the immortals she admired. Even Nyx came forward to bow and touch the girl's hands, recognising her place as the Guardian of the Isle of the Blessed. The House of Hades rapidly transformed into the hub of celebration. Persephone would return soon to join the festivities, bringing Hecate and Hermes with her. It was a perfect, wonderful moment and marked the beginning of a long period of festival for all.

To Thanatos, the feelings that he wrestled with were deplorable. A dull kind of resentment flared in him. Why would the Fates do this to him? Why would they force love upon him now? How many eons had he served tirelessly, only asking that he be left alone with his peace of mind? How could they do this to him?

He escaped back to his work alone and even there, the torment continued. Suddenly most of his Shades had a love story, a horrid affiliation with love for someone or something left behind. What a waste love laid – so many regrets left in the dying, so many that ended their life because they could not possess their heart's desire. Horrible! Thanatos clutched his scythe and relentlessly pushed himself through the pity that welled up, sudden and unexpected, when he touched the love of other souls.

Love's power was such that Thanatos was moved. He didn't mean to be but he was uncommonly gentle to those who perished pulsing with the same desire that was flooding through his body unchecked. Every girl with a smile suddenly reminded him of Macaria, the warm touch of the earth was poor compared to the warmth of her arm on his. Separation was an agony; as quick as arrow's flight he was lost. It was disgusting. It was unbearable. It was tearing him apart from the inside, like a rotten fruit softening and ripping at the core.

He took the life of a newborn with a very heavy heart, watching the light in the child's parents turn from glimmering joy to barren hopelessness and grief within the hour of his parting the Shade from its fresh body. But the babe was not to be, not this time. Thanatos watched the mother fall prostrate with horror. Death even started to cry drily when her partner, the poor fool head over heels for her, picked her up so very gently and tried to comfort her even as his own heart broke.

This kind of grief impacting on Thanatos was unprecedented and shocked him as little else had. How could he continue to complete his work like this? He _was_ Death, the trudge of death's progress shouldn't leave him wasted like this! It was the doing of the Fates! It was Macaria! It was this whole ridiculous situation that had been thrust upon him with no warning.

He wanted her. He wanted her quiet eyes and easy smile, he wanted her conversation as a balm but how could the affliction also be the cure to his madness? Thanatos staggered and almost miscalculated his next death. The realisation left him gritting his teeth and shaking with terror. She had such a sway over him that she could cause him to falter and almost fail the duty he had undertaken for the last millennia without fail. That beautiful princess with her own sense of duty was a distraction to the God of Death. It was insanity.

Thanatos swore and struggled. He tried to heal the mark on his chest but it wouldn't leave. He felt the scratch catching at the fabric of his clothes, reminding him it was there. He lashed out at the monochrome bubble of his reality with his scythe and trees fell, flowers shrivelled, beasts lay down and died in the paddock around him.

Once or twice he was tempted to join the parties that were no doubt in full swing back in the Underworld but the crowds dissuaded him. He stepped back onto the shore of the Styx and remembered her, begging with him to take her to the Fates. He recalled Hecate's derision now with bitter irony.

 _Death is in your future…_

But that wasn't how it worked! He couldn't be close to Macaria, could he? Anything that became close to him died, that was the way it went. Even immortals were wary of staying in his presence, for he spelt the destruction and end of things, not the beginning of a future. He was decay and rust, he was sundown and final rest, he was the last word before oblivion. To be with him would diminish Macaria's own splendour and he would do anything except that. He would not lessen her power. He could not do that to her…

Thanatos let the threads of ending life drive him onward and then, there she was.

It was almost as though she'd been waiting for him.

He studied her with new eyes, trying not to betray his own astonishment. Macaria was graceful, with hair like the night. Her divinity was like a halo that illuminated her soul. The desire to touch her burned and he bit it away.

"You left your own celebration?" Death asked. He reminded himself to sound civil, disinterested even, if he could manage it.

Macaria took a step towards him and his heart thudded painfully. She was glowing, both with her own power and her contentment in finding her place in the grand scheme of things.

"I came to invite you to it, if you have a moment," Macaria turned that beseeching look on him, an expression he was learning was a regular occurrence. "Mother will be back soon with Hecate. Everyone knows Hecate will turn this day into one to remember. I would be honoured if you joined us to mark the occasion." She finished with an easy laugh that almost undid his intentions.

Death choked. He didn't know what to do. His revelations were stunning to him; he had no concept of how to reveal them to her. He didn't think he could.

"I have much to complete," he bowed his head a little to hide from those eyes. "Unfortunately I cannot return to the Underworld just now."

"Please…"

She reached out for his arm and he jumped backwards. One touch and he would be lost. Macaria withdrew her fingers and he caught the edge of confusion in her dark eyes.

By Zeus, he did not want to hurt her!

"Thanatos?" she whispered. "Are you okay?"

He wished he could consult with someone, but the only being he would have ever considered taking this sort of torment to for a suggestion was Hades and the very notion of that was ludicrous. Tell his master he was in love with his daughter? Never in all his centuries would he have the courage to attempt such a feat.

"I am busy," was the reply that crossed his lips unbidden. Thanatos longed to be led away from this dilemma. He even considered praying to Aphrodite for rescue, to Eros even, but he couldn't. They might tell Hades. They might take it upon themselves to increase the damage that their arrows were ravaging inside of him.

Macaria stood, clutching her dress with both hands and twisting it into knots.

"I never meant to intrude on your work, Thanatos," she said softly. "Truly, I didn't know going to the Fates would rob you of some of the Shades you reap. I'm sorry."

Thanatos closed his eyes. She thought he was angry at her work, that he felt slighted.

"That is no cause for distress," he spluttered back to her. "I believe that any lessening of my burden is a blessing. I…"

But by all of creation, he couldn't tell her. He wasn't that brave. He had only just discovered his heart; he couldn't lay it before her and hope. He didn't know what to hope for. Love had never touched him like this – love had overlooked him until this moment.

"I know you might not enjoy the party but I…" Macaria cleared her throat until he was forced to meet her gaze. "I can't help but feel that I had done little to thank you for your help. I wouldn't have anything to celebrate right now if not for you." She moved closer to fill the gap he had made between them. He could almost smell the floral scent of her hair, a scent that whispered of paradise. "Please come with me and greet my mother at the Gates. We can beat the crowds and surprise her together."

Death shook. He was so torn. Helpless, he watched as she took his arm as they had done before but this time the touch of her left him elated.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Macaria asked him before they moved. "You're trembling."

Thanatos _was_ trembling. His imprudent limbs were giving him away. She was so warm, so bright, so comforting. He was choking on his own convictions. He felt fear, sharp and bitter, slicing through his joy at her closeness. Death danced between the heights of love and the edge of his hope, that cliff of despair that lay so close to his joy. What if she rejected him? What if she laughed at him? What if his love disgusted her and she vanished, repulsed, and he was never to see her again?

He was ashamed at the realisation that if she did try and run from him, he knew he would try and steal glances of her regardless. Thanatos would not bother her again but he knew he could be there, in the shadows, watching her beauty from afar.

He took his arm back for a moment and saw her eyes widen with hurt. It stabbed him as surely as any blade. Thanatos touched her cheek, cupped it with his cold fingers.

"I…"

"Thanatos?" She didn't sound afraid, just confused. She didn't move away.

Death tried to concentrate but she was such a distraction. His arms wanted to wrap around her softly, to hold her to him. They were aching for it, the stupid things.

"I have to tell you something…" Thanatos took a breath. "When we visited the Fates, they… They did something to me as well as unveil your future as a goddess. The Moirae have some rarer powers to direct Fate that they seldom use and I… I fear that they may have…"

Macaria clutched her elbow and rubbed the end of it but she didn't move. She didn't shake off his hand and he dismissed his scythe to cup her beautiful face in both of his hands. Macaria inched closer and he lost his ability to speak.

"The golden arrows," she whispered to him. "I saw them."

"I think they marked me," Thanatos admitted. "The arrows know no barriers, one of them much have pierced through my cloak and now… Now I believe that…"

But it was too soon. He couldn't speak the words. He didn't know what he could do for her, this brilliant and wonderful being that did not shirk from his grey touch, who looked up at him without an ounce of the fear or distaste that he saw reflected from so many others, immortal and mortal alike. What kind of person could love Death?

Was there anyone who could truly love Death?

Could this be her? He didn't know the words to ask.

But Macaria took the need for speak away from him. She reached up and tugged back his hood and put her mouth on his.

Death was rarely, if ever, touched. Physical sensation was not something he had much experience in. Most of his work required a distant and polite hand to lead the Shades onwards or to help them to their feet. His scythe was the only thing that had felt right in his hands and he had wielded it for a long time so that it had become a familiar and comforting weight.

Macaria's kiss was a whole other world. They fit, they matched perfectly and the taste of her was euphoria. His shyness melted as she tugged him closer. His hesitations disappeared as though they had never been as he finally wrapped his arms around her and held her. His chest was pounding a beat that he had never known it could beat. He felt her lips curl into a smile around him and couldn't help but answer with his own. The sweetness of it had him close to tears.

When he ran out of breath he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids. She laughed softly into his chest and ran her own kisses down his neck. Thanatos found he wasn't nervous, or frightened, or even concerned with the future at all in that moment. He was blissfully happy for the first time in eons.

Macaria captured him in her embrace and stared into his eyes.

"You're coming with me to see my mother," she told him, radiant. "And we can talk about wounds from arrows later."

Thanatos was shocked.

"Did it hurt you?" he asked, tense.

Macaria shook her head.

"Clotho got my elbow," she told him, rubbing it again. "I was so worried that you'd be..."

He silenced her with another kiss, realising that her fears must have mirrored his own, for they had both been wounded. Macaria took his hand in her own and looked at him expectantly. Death bowed to her wishes and allowed the darkness to swim around them both, to transport them to the Gates of the Underworld.

They faded out of sight together from Zeus's realm.


	11. Chapter 11

The woods were twisted and silent as any tomb. Aeneas listened carefully but there was no footfall of any beast, no trickle of a stream, no gentle patter of leaves falling, no noise of any kind. The immortals held this place in a kind of limbo, untouched by lesser beings. He and Ascanius had seen it twisting up and along the coastline when they had journeyed to the temple. It continued for an enormous length off and up to the mountains in the far distance. They had consciously avoided it and told the men to do the same.

Deiphobe led the way into the foliage and stopped short. Aeneas watched her gesture into the forbidding canopy that shrouded their way forward.

"The sun does not part through these leaves, nor can Apollo's eye see where we must go," she told him. "But perhaps your divine mother will see fit to grant you the ability to find a bough of gold hidden in these woods, which the God of Foresight has assured me will be a fitting gift for the Lady of the Underworld."

Ascanius shivered.

"Father, I will stand watch over the edge of the trees here," he muttered. "I will guard our way back to the men."

This was something he knew he would do alone and he was grateful that Ascanius would not give him an argument about wanting to accompany himself and the seer. Aeneas clasped his son's shoulder and prayed to Aphrodite.

"You will not need to wait long," he promised.

Ascanius just nodded and drew his bow.

They did not have to walk far before all light melted away into nothingness. It was like sinking into a deep, black ocean in the woods. Any touch of the sunlight was swallowed and Aeneas had to put his hands out in front of him to guide past each trunk by touch. It made him feel foolish and very vulnerable – any enemy would have the advantage in a place such as this.

"Have you been this way before?" Aeneas whispered to the seer he could hear keeping steady pace behind him. Her dress on the ground created a comforting rustling. She did not falter.

"Never," Deiphobe admitted. "I have been many places and never left the Temple of Apollo."

Aeneas knew this to be a contradiction but who would dare to try and correct a seer? Dallying in the future more than the present as a livelihood must take a toll on a person's mind and spirit.

"Tell me, if you are able," Aeneas asked as they walked steadily deeper. "This new city I am to build… Have you seen it?"

Deiphobe's voice was strangely high and strained.

"Yes."

"Are you afraid of me, seer?"

There were only breaths, warm and quick, behind him for a moment.

"No. But the future is stranger and more complicated than you could imagine. You are necessary. The city is necessary. But…" Deiphobe broke off and thought for a moment. Aeneas clambered over a rock while he waited for a response that made some shred of sense. "I have lived the last seven hundred years. I do not wish to see another seven hundred for, over the course of them, many changes will create a world almost unfathomable to us in the here and now."

"So… You fear the future I bring about?"

There was a noise above their heads and they both faltered. Doves cooing. Aeneas smelt the sweet aroma of fresh roses and dropped his head into his hands. He would recognise her essence anywhere. Here, crawling and clambering in the dark, he was relieved beyond words at her presence.

 _Mother._

Aphrodite's doves cooed and clucked; the pair of them made plenty of noise as they flitted from tree to tree, waiting for their human companions on the ground to catch up with their progress. So Aeneas's question went unanswered as they struggled to keep pace with their winged guides.

Sweat was pouring down Aeneas's back before the birds fell silent and landed on his shoulders. He strained his eyes in the blackness, feeling like a child in the womb. The air was heavy and full of moisture but stagnant with age. It tasted foul as he breathed and stared, trying to see _anything_.

The bough was above him and it glittered. Aeneas thought that his eyes had to be playing tricks on him but the bough did indeed emit its own sheen in the void around them. The doves' wings shivered in front of that faint light for a moment, obscuring his vision. Aeneas reached upwards on tiptoe; he could just brush it with his fingers.

"Take the gift," Deiphobe instructed, her voice issuing from the shadows like a dream.

He didn't want to damage it. Aeneas climbed the worn groves in the tree until he was in the air, reaching with one hand and then he had the bough. He plucked it quickly and fell back to the forest floor. To his astonishment, another golden bough instantly grew to replace the one that was glowing mutely in his fist.

Deiphobe sounded pleased.

"It is a good omen," she told him from the darkness. "The replacement will ensure that your quest will succeed. If it had not grown, this would mean that your golden bough would remain in Zeus's realm and not be accepted in the Underworld."

Aeneas huffed.

"Right. Another signal I must continue."

Deiphobe actually laid icy fingers on his arm. It stilled any other foolish words he may have felt before they carried out to her hearing.

"You question the will of the Olympians?" she uttered without menace but Aeneas still recoiled from her freezing touch as though she had yelled at him.

"I will never question them," Aeneas found himself reciting an argument that Ascanius had already made to him. "How can I? From birth to Troy's downfall, to the destruction of my love, to this journey forward to a land I cannot imagine, they have guided me with omens a child could follow. I won't argue; I can't."

He did not add that sometimes he very much wished that he could. Dido's face flashed across his mind for a moment but he turned the guilt away for later.

The doves pecked at the bough and lifted it between them above Aeneas's head. It cast the slimmest of illuminations to try and pierce that gloomy wood all around him but it was welcome. The doves made their progress back towards the edge of the woods. Aeneas was glad to follow them in silence. The humidity could have been mistaken for a low fever. He ran his forearm across his face and it came away soaked.

Aeneas regretted his words and held his hand out towards Deiphobe.

"How are you faring, seer?" He remembered the decrepit thing in the temple and cursed his rashness; if he was lathered in sweat from exertion surely she was suffering and here he was complaining about his lot in life. Dido would have been ashamed of him.

"Perfectly," Deiphobe told him. "I will be fine."

Aeneas held his tongue and listened instead, waiting for any kind of sound from the aged seer that she was struggling but throughout their steady progress back into the sunlight she never moaned or faltered, nor did any kind of noise betray her except for her inhales and that familiar rustle along the ground. He was silently impressed with her fortitude.

"Father?"

Aeneas heard Ascanius and the doves dropped the bough into his arms. Ahead there were pricks of white that marked the end of their hike. He grinned.

"We were successful Ascanius. Run ahead and tell the men I return with the golden bough and the seer."

His son whooped and was off like an arrow – he had always been swift of foot. In the daylight Aeneas inspected the bough with fascination – it appeared to be made of solid gold but it was light and each rivet could not have been crafted by any kind of metalworker he knew of. It was a genuine wonder.

"A fine tribute," Deiphobe also admired the bough with satisfaction. "It will serve our purpose. We seek Elysium, and the advice of your father."

"My father?" Aeneas was shocked. Anchises had never spoken much of fate or knowledge of the future, yet he would be the medium to guide he and his men to their destiny?

Deiphobe nodded and hurried forward. She was basking in the sunlight, stretching out her palms to receive the rays of the day.

"His Shade will give you your final destination," she informed him and she walked, soaking in the shine of the day. "In the Underworld, you will have every answer that you seek and you will come to terms with your fate."

Aeneas scowled and followed. Dido's fate nagged at his conscious like a mad dog on a bone. He could not let that go in a hurry. And if they were headed towards the Underworld…

"Which Shades will I encounter?" he asked the seer suddenly. "I was at war not long ago. There are many dead because of me."

Deiphobe did not answer. Perhaps she didn't want to and this was one of the perils he would need to overcome.

They followed in Ascanius's footsteps back down to the encampment and Aeneas addressed his men. They were in awe of the seer and the bough but when Aeneas told them of his next step, many were outraged.

"We did not come this far for you to die!" They roared their dismay at him, standing in the twilight. "This cannot be!"

Aeneas shushed them and explained that he would travel through the Underworld alive, if it be the will of the gods, to seek his father's counsel. He insisted that he would do this alone save for the seer of Apollo, which earned him both a scowl from Ascanius and some relieved sighs from his soldiers.

"Rest," he implored his men. "Make yourself a haven here because when I have a final destination we will set about raising a city the likes of which has never been seen, not like Troy, not like Carthage and certainly not like the dogs in Greece!"

There were some cries of joy and shouts of agreement at this pronouncement. But Ascanius wasn't convinced.

"Go alone into the Underworld? What will grandfather know that the divine do not?" he yelled, staring at Deiphobe with suspicious eyes.

The woman did not flinch and to her credit, when other men considered Ascanius's words and looked at her with distrust she simple shone with that unflappable coolness that Aeneas had admired in the woods.

"When Athens was born the immortals proposed gifts to build the city," she spoke imperiously over the masses. The men fell quiet. "You know this. Athena offered the olive tree and Poseidon a spring for the city with no patron deity. Athena was chosen by the people and the Earthshaker was infuriated at the slight. There could have been war but the cunning Athena had ensured both of the deities had sworn to peace before the commencement of the contest. Ever since, Zeus decreed that the growing of cities could be overseen by immortals but had to be commenced by fate itself and the words of one who was not an immortal. He commanded that the Olympians should not bring about wrath on each other at the beginning of new eras."

Aeneas watched the men glance sideways at each other. They knew the story – all of the Trojans had been treated with the tales from boasting Greeks throughout the war and long before. But her logical argument won them over and besides, the seer spoke the truth. Everyone knew the punishment of Zeus's wrath if someone claimed to know his secrets and spoke falsely of the Lord of the Skies.

The night was clear and glorious. Aeneas savoured the saltiness of the ocean breeze and felt it drench his lungs, clearing out that brittle feeling the woods had left in him. He watched the sky with loving eyes, wondering what the darkness of the Underworld would be like.

He made sure there was a suitable place for Deiphobe set and then saw himself to his tent, avoiding Ascanius. There would be a conversation later about the perils of this journey alone but he did not wish for it to be now.

Aeneas closed his eyes and forced himself not to think of Dido and the home they might have built together.


	12. Chapter 12

Persephone hurried across the ground, Hermes uncharacteristically quiet by her side. Hecate had been too busy in the Underworld to accompany them this time, and so the pair had travelled far in an awkward silence. Persephone had found it a little unnerving but she was tired of the sunlight, the constant line of fear and respect drawn around her by the mortals and ached for her husband. She bore the silence and wondered at it, but mostly she was just glad to be on her way.

It wasn't until the tinge of grey that marked the divide Zeus's realm and Hades's realm almost completely surrounded the three of them that Persephone plucked up the courage to ask him what was the matter.

Hermes didn't respond for a long moment and the landscape changed to smooth stone around them. The door of the Underworld loomed in the distance; already the River Styx could be heard making steady progress beside them. Home. So very close. But at last Hermes turned with serious eyes towards her and she forced herself to forestall her reunion for her friend.

"I'm not sure I can tell you," Hermes admitted. Persephone was surprised to see a degree of solemnity across her friend's features. Hermes was usually so full of jokes and character. "I'm not sure what I can do anymore."

Persephone stopped short.

"Hermes. You can trust me." She frowned. "Are you upset? Frightened? Can I do anything to help you?"

Hermes sighed and came to a halt close by but he didn't meet her stare. He was looking upwards, towards Mount Olympus and he hid his expression. His hands on his caduceus were restless.

"You and your family…" Persephone almost didn't catch his mumble. Hermes ran a hand through his hair, snapping the caduceus to his thigh.

"If you have something to say about my family, then by all means say it," Persephone demanded, her tone unintentionally harsh with fear. She'd never seen anything like this in Hermes before.

The Messenger God grimaced and turned to her.

"You're pregnant," he stated matter-of-factly. "You're going to bear a son to Hades."

Persephone blinked. She knew that and her mother knew that but how in all the realms had _Hermes_ figured that out? She had hoped to keep it a secret a while longer, to save her husband anxiety over the stupid prophecy. And now this.

"I know. And I know about the prophecy, if that's what you're so uptight about." Her fists clenched.

Hermes clucked in annoyance.

"You have no idea what's going on beyond your realm, do you? The heroes that are lined up to knock on your door? The conflict that rages between Zeus and the others of the pantheon? The risk that your boy will be the end of us all?" Hermes shook his head. "Never mind. Just go on home, love. Stay ignorant. Stay away from Mount Olympus."

"Now hold on a minute…" Persephone began but with a soft brush of wings Hermes shot up into the air and was gone, like a shooting star drifting upwards instead of plummeting to the earth.

Persephone stalked off into the Underworld by herself, trying to bring her frustration under control. It wasn't fair for him to mock her ignorance, her want for peace for herself and her family. It wasn't right for him to take a dig that she was pregnant. But Hermes heard all messages and had more knowledge than most; for him to be so concerned…

But she was distracted by the noise of a crowd huddled just behind Cerberus. Dozens of immortals chattering, laughing, murmuring to each other across the shore of the Styx. Persephone closed the door behind her and stared.

Hades was waiting in his customary place next to his enormous hound. His noble features softened when he saw her and drained most of her tension away. She was finally home and it was hard to stay cross and confused when he was clearly so relieved that she had made it back to him.

The crowd swelled behind him, a motley of people that Persephone was surprised to see. Hecate was there, to be sure, bursting out of the crowd with her arms outreached for a hug, her impressive figure swaying as she ran towards her Queen with that customary grin. Nyx was behind Hecate, her body seemingly consistent of nothing but stars and her eyes all dark pupils, almost unfathomable. Her son Morpheus stood at her shoulder, soft skin gleaming, his hair pure white and so luxuriant down to his waist that Persephone envied it. There were naiads and dryads and other immortal servants swelling around them, laughing and carefree. Clearly there was little productive work being down; most had cups in their hands.

In the middle, moving towards her steadily was a brilliant light, a shining beacon that everyone had gathered around. As it came towards her, Persephone realised that it was a woman glowing as brightly as the lanterns of the Lampades – a woman with a beautiful slight figure, eyes like hers and hair as dark as her husband's…

"Macaria!"

The crowd turned and noticed her entry as Hades had done. But Persephone couldn't hear them or see them clearly – her daughter had transformed into a goddess while she was away and she was wrestling with the strangest combination of elation and sadness that she had ever felt. Her baby was gone but what a replacement! Her eyes drunk in the sight of this dazzling, tall, beautiful, stately woman that was her child.

Macaria was moving but Hecate was faster.

"Oh Persephone! We have all been waiting for you _forever._ Your girl is all grown up! Look at her… She is the Goddess of Blessed Death, such a treasure to you." Words spilled from Hecate as she enveloped her friend in an enormous embrace. Persephone patted aside Hecate's hair so that her eyes could stay fixated on the luminescent being still moving towards her – her little girl. "You'll never believe it – or maybe you will – but your girl just went to the Fates _and asked them what her fate was!_ She just went! Made Death take her along for the ride and poof! Here she is!"

There was Thanatos behind her daughter, almost invisible in the shadow of her radiance, customarily shy.

Persephone gently extricated herself from Hecate's arms and the goddess didn't protest. Macaria beamed at her mother and held out her hands. Persephone looked at them, took them, felt their softness gone and replaced by the larger and harder hands of a woman. A goddess.

Persephone touched Macaria's cheek and smiled. She shook with emotion. Her little girl was gone forever, for all eternity there was this divine being that she and Hades had created. It had all happened so quickly.

Too fast. Much too fast.

"Welcome home mother," Macaria said, her cheek moving under Persephone's hand as she smiled.

"Macaria…" Persephone swept her up in her arms slowly, cherishing the moment. "You look… I can't believe it…"

Hecate broke the touching moment with a loud pronouncement.

"Macaria - Goddess of Blessed Death, named by the Fates themselves," she yelled at the top of her considerable voice. "Leader of the Lampades and Guardian of the Isle of the Blessed. Warden of Elysium. First child of Hades and princess of the Underworld."

The crowd exploded with celebration but Persephone was too stunned to hear the tumult that erupted at the pronouncement of her daughter's titles.

 _I went away and she grew up. Just like that._

"Are you alright?" Macaria said into her ear.

"I'm shocked," admitted Persephone. "And so proud of you. So proud, my little girl."

 _She's gone. Not my little girl anymore – she's changed._

"Sorry for the surprise," Macaria laughed.

"It's a fantastic surprise, it's just…"

 _I thought we'd have more time._

"I'm so amazed!" Persephone let her daughter go and held her at arm's length to inspect her. She was relieved that Macaria's eyes were the same, the face stripped of baby-fat at last but not that different. The resemblance to Hades was remarkably clear – his cheekbones, his nose. His handsome stare copied onto his daughter and suited her just as well.

 _Maybe this is what Hermes feels – like a rug has been pulled from under him. Things are moving so quickly, not a comfortable feeling for any immortal._

Then Hades was there, Hades was holding them both, Hades was holding her upright as she recovered at the speed of the events unfolding around her including the new life beginning inside.

"You look like you need rest, mother." Macaria squeezed her parents.

"Enjoy the celebrations," Hades told their daughter. Macaria shrugged in a motion familiar to Persephone – their precocious daughter wanted to get to work.

Persephone drew herself up and addressed the crowd.

"Thank you for the warm welcome and the celebrations," she announced and the listeners grew silent in respect of her words. "But I hope you will acknowledge that I wish to have time with my family." She turned to her daughter. "My child, I am so thrilled to see you fulfil all of your dreams. I have no doubt that you will be our treasure of the Underworld."

They clapped and whistled but dispersed without an issue, obeying her wishes. She was their beloved Queen, no one held a grudge for her will. Hecate huffed once and looked like she might say something but another attendant called her away. Finally only Death, Hades, Macaria and herself remained.

"You're right, I need to rest," Persephone murmured to Macaria and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Go and do your duty, love. I know that's what you want. We will have time to catch up tonight."

"Business as usual," Macaria winked. "We will see you then, mother."

She took Death's hand and they disappeared into the darkness. Persephone didn't miss that. She shook her head.

"So quickly," she murmured to Hades's chest, her voice almost a moan. "She's gone."

Hades laughed, a deep vibration that gently shook her and brought a smile to her face in spite of herself.

"Forgive me. Immortals see the transcendence of their offspring as such a long process but to one raised among mortals, it must be brief. Do not worry yourself." He brushed her hair softly, with comforting hands. "She is the same as ever in character, in deportment, in her own self."

"I know," Persephone sighed. "It's just…"

They walked towards the river and Hades's personal vessel was waiting. He lifted her easily, making her breathless and placed her in her seat by his side. They were silent as they held each other a moment, revelling in her homecoming.

"Something else troubles you," Hades acknowledged after they had left the shore.

The water was soothing. Persephone listened to its steady flow and whisper as it ran across the side of their boat. But Hermes's behaviour had disturbed her and the shock had worn a little from Macaria. She trusted Hades more than anyone, even her mother.

But this was not the right moment. It was too sweet to spoil yet.

"Later," Persephone urged him and kissed him gently. "It's good to be home."

He took her face in his hands and returned her sweetness. They ignored the shades of the dead making their way downstream, they ignored the shadows and the fear for a while longer. Persephone was home and content for now. She let one of her hands steal down to cup her belly which did not show.

 _Somehow, we will all be safe. Together._


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much for your incredible patience, dear readers. I intend to finish the saga I began over the next few months.**

 **I hope you enjoy.**

Aeneas lay down with some hesitation. Although Deiphobe had told him exactly how to enter the Underworld, now that the moment had arrived, his skin crawled.

"Pray," she instructed. "Pray to your mother, the Goddess of Love. Pray to Morpheus, who is Sleep. Pray to the night, the Goddess Nyx. Let them show the way." The aged seer lay a hand on his forehead and brushed his hair lightly.

Aeneas took one last look at the stars, just in case he never saw them again. He had said his farewells to the crew, to his men, to his son. Ascanius had told him that he would be vigilant and wait for his return. But that self-same dread was there in his boy's eyes – that horror that he may never wake up again.

The Underworld did not let go of the living lightly.

Aeneas watched those heavenly lights and silently prayed. Then he closed his eyes.

"Stand," the seer commanded from his side. He stood.

"Walk," she whispered. He did so, trusting her guiding hand on his shoulder.

His trepidation grew. He remembered the stories of Orpheus, the man who could have had his wife returned to life if only he'd not looked behind him at the mysteries of death. But the poor tragic hero had doubted that his wife was there and looked around at the last moment. Aeneas squeezed his eyes tightly shut, heeding the warning of the story. There were some mysteries that mortals were not to know if they wanted to remain in the world of the living.

He concentrated on walking, on the breath sailing through his chest. He was alive. He was still alive, and going to the Underworld.

The golden bough was clenched between his aching hands.

He breathed and walked, trying to master his shivering limbs.

"I am with you," Deiphobe uttered. "You may now open your eyes."

Aeneas opened them and blinked.

The world had been soaked in grey. Everything – the stones, the sky, the dirt beneath his boots, the water of the river that ran – it was all a uniform grey with barely distinguishable dips and shadows. The water ran but it was thick and dark – not like any water he'd seen before. He felt a chill as he realised he was actually steps away from the Styx.

Deiphobe nodded and pointed. Her finger headed down the path of the river and Aeneas saw what she was gesturing towards.

The Gates to the Underworld. It was too surreal – the oddest of all nightmares seemed to be pressing in around him.

He moved slowly along the treacherous ground. Only the golden bough seemed to have any colouring – it still glowed between his fingers and gave him strength. Looking at it reminded him of his goal and dispelled the slow, dreamy horror tearing at his resolve. Deiphobe was skilful and quick to move along the shoreline, never faltering in her next step.

"You have seen this place before, in your visions?" he asked her. The way she moved spoke of confidence in where she was headed, as though this was a familiar path towards some treasured place.

She actually grinned at him for a moment. Her long white hair shimmered in the gloom.

"I dreamt of this journey endlessly. For hundreds of years I have been through this trek in my mind. I have been here often enough that I could have touched every stone on the ground in my visions. But it is here. It is _now._ I have finally accomplished this moment."

Aeneas recognised her glee for what it was – relief that she was finally conducting this walk for the last time. He was impressed.

"This is all new to me," he admitted. "I had but one instruction – to build a city. A glorious city, an empire that would grow to be formidable. I can see a picture in my head – dim but splendid. I don't even know if the image is foretelling or whether I just imagined it the way I do. But I could not imagine seeing it for hundreds of years…"

"I would not recommend it," the seer told him in a subdued voice. "But it is my fate. I have _finally_ arrived."

At last the door loomed over them. Deiphobe murmured something and reached for her pocket.

"Cerberus guards these Gates," she told Aeneas. "I have something for him."

Aeneas drew back in shock.

"I doubt he can be bribed." He swallowed and clutched the bough to his chest.

Deiphobe actually smiled.

"I have something more effective than bribery," she promised.

They pushed at the doors. Although enormous, they moved soundlessly inwards. Aeneas felt the cool stagnant breeze from within and almost lost his nerve. Deiphobe's steady patience and self-assurance was the only thing keeping him steady.

He tried to process what he was seeing but it didn't do much for his nerve.

The River Styx rushed by beside him and split in two, gushing to the right and left. Ahead lay a dock of some kind, white with age and flimsy against the impenetrable waters. Along the boards were Shades of the dead – unmistakeable in their colourless and fluid-like state. He could make out the shapes of people but they had no spark – they didn't breathe, they didn't talk, they didn't even really move much. They had lost their essential selves – they were just waiting.

But before the dock lined with Shades of the dead was a mammoth shadow, four stout legs and three pairs of glowing red eyes in the darkness. Aeneas felt the ground beneath his feet tremble as the gigantic hound sniffed, turned faster than he could have believed possible and caught sight of the seer and himself between the Gates of the Underworld.

Cerberus!

Aeneas felt a scream rise in his throat. He barely held it in. Deiphobe stood tall and threw something small that she had concealed in her pocket. Cerberus jutted forwards and Aeneas saw the three heads of the beast snarl and snap at whatever she had thrown. The great middle head caught it between his jaws and snapped it up.

Deiphobe threw again. The left head growled and caught her morsel between its teeth. She hefted her small handful for the last time and the right head sniffed and snapped, closing around whatever she had flung. Cerberus eyed her with all six of those shimmering red pupils for a moment and then the beast went still. Drool pooled from the mouth of the left head and the gooey mess stretched downwards.

"He shall sleep now," Deiphobe assured Aeneas. "Morpheus himself helped me make those cakes. None can fight against them."

Sure enough, the beast was yawning, its great jaws falling loose. Its limbs trembled, and then gave way. The ground jumped and shuddered as Cerberus collapsed. The Shades scattered like leaves in the wind so as not to be crushed as the dog fell, its sides panting, to sleep. Aeneas didn't dare let his breath escape until every last one of the gigantic animal's eyes had closed and its chest had eased into the heavy, natural rhythm of very deep sleep.

Deiphobe was already moving, beckoning him further. Aeneas hurried along, not eager to be left behind. He took care not to brush Cerberus.

The dock was full of ghosts. They stood along the shoreline, some of them up to their knees in the swirling water, silent and watchful. Aeneas perceived that some of the Shades were curled up on the ground, silent and solemn. He asked Deiphobe why they were not waiting as eagerly as the others on the dock.

"They weren't buried properly," she told him. "They have nothing to give the ferryman and so cannot cross. They are doomed to stay forever until they have payment or until the day Charon becomes charitable."

"Aeneas?"

Aeneas spun, hearing his name echo from behind. Heart thudding, he watched the outline of one of the Shades grow nearer. In the glow of the golden bough Aeneas finally recognised the Shade's face and his heart sank.

"Palinurus?" Aeneas whispered. Here was his old friend, long dead at the battle of Troy. There he was – large as life and still in the armour he had died in.

Palinurus's Shade nodded gloomily.

"But you are not dead?" Palinurus asked, squinting at the shining thing in Aeneas's hands. Aeneas shook his head.

"I was guided to the Underworld by the gods," Aeneas replied, nodded at his companion, the seer. "I am not yet dead."

Palinurus groaned.

"Can you spare me a coin?" he begged. "Anything? I fear I will never be at rest, my friend."

But suddenly Deiphobe was there, Deiphobe was pressing something against the Shade of the deceased Palinurus and whispering for him to keep quiet so that not all the other souls would harass she and Aeneas for gold or silver. Palinurus nodded and smiled his gratitude before fleeing into the shadows, the coin she had given him hidden between his palms like an offering.

"Goodbye," Aeneas uttered as his friend disappeared into the queue. He wondered with dread how many old friends and enemies he would have to encounter to find his father.

But there was no time to fret – the ferryman was coming. Charon on his long, slim vessel approached the dock quickly, expertly negotiating the flowing waters. The Shades on the dock surged forward, their payment in their hands.

"Hurry," Deiphobe urged.

With their solid bodies they parted the Shades easily, as though walking through mist. Aeneas reached the edge of the dock and stared at Charon. The ferryman's cloak hung low over his face and his features were concealed in shadow. His arms, taut with muscle, clenched the oar of his boat and held it firm.

"You're not dead, heroes," Charon spat. "I don't make the crossing for nothing."

Deiphobe touched the golden bough in Aeneas's hands, raising it so the ferryman could see.

"Our payment must firstly be to your Queen and King," Deiphobe stated firmly. "But the gold of this bough will surely pay for safe passage." She glared at the ancient figure, daring him to disagree. Aeneas caught no expression from the ferryman but as the Shades filled the raft, Charon did not protest their presence any further. He followed Deiphobe onto the prow of the boat and stood, waiting.

Charon set off from the shoreline with great effort, sighing as he dug in his oar. Some of the Shades on the shoreline watched their progress with mournful eyes. Aeneas tried to see his friend but there were simply too many figures lining the edge of the water.

Aeneas shivered as the waters hissed and spat against their raft. The Shades did not seem frightened or intimidated by the ghostly surroundings. He couldn't see much except for the River stretching into rocky darkness and occasionally a black-sanded bay would appear out of nowhere, which Charon would carefully avoid. As much as Aeneas found Charon unnerving company he had to concede that the ferryman knew his business – he had never experienced such a smooth and skilled journey over water before.

Deiphobe stared into the gloom and started to whisper to Aeneas, gesturing deftly at the stretching passageways of water.

"Beyond here is the House of Hades – the seat of the Lord of the Dead's kingdom. The River Styx stretches off into many other smaller rivers…. That way goes the Lethe – the waters of forgetting… This way leads to Tartarus through waters of fire…"

"The Phelegethon?" Aeneas remembered the stories and the murals of the Underworld he had seen as a young man. He strained but there was no light in that darkness, no hint of fire he could detect with his weak mortal eyes.

Charon struggled and strained, grinding at the bottom of the river until the raft slowed. Another dock loomed ahead and then, a grand hall behind it. The line of the dead here seemed tense, expectant. Deiphobe tapped Aeneas on the shoulder.

"The Hall of Judgement." She tilted her head left. "We will have to go around to get to the House of Hades."

But they were expected. At the dock the dead silently took their places and a nymph strode forward, dressed in a simple black, to bow and direct them away from this place of judgement. Aeneas watched the walls as they walked along the path behind the nymph, wondering what sort of process final judgement was, unable to tear his mind from contemplating his own decision yet to come.

"I… am meant to see my father?" Aeneas asked Deiphobe, as it occurred to him that his long-deceased relative would have passed through that hall many years before. She nodded passively.

"We must pay tribute before we see him," she reassured Aeneas quietly. "Just follow. We approach the Silent One."

Aeneas envied her certainty but did not question her further.

The path to the House of Hades was actually quite lovely in a dark, creepy kind of way. There were decorations and as they approached, more immortals waved to the nymph who was their guide. It was a friendlier atmosphere than the silent, waiting Shades who they had kept company with up until then.

They kept a quick pace and entered the House of Hades, which was rich with decadence and grand mystique. Aeneas followed their guide and suddenly, there were guards announcing their presence. He swallowed, stroked the bough, watched Deiphobe brush back her long hair in a rare display of nerves. His lungs seemed to be caught somewhere up in the back of his throat. The diamonds in the walls winked in the firelight. He tried to stare at them and instead felt his heartbeat thundering behind his eyes, shaking the image he saw. He felt like he may vomit.

"The Lord Hades, King of the Underworld and the Dead. The Lady Persephone, Queen of the Underworld and the Mysteries of Death!"

The crier opened the doors to the throne room and Aeneas forced his legs to move.

Deiphobe led him into the centre of the room and Aeneas stared. He knew on some level it was ill-mannered but he could not help himself. His mother had manifested herself to him many times but he had little experience with other deities – this was his first experience face to face with a god.

Hades and Persephone were a revelation.

The King was horrifying. Sleek and strong, as imposing as any royalty Aeneas had ever encountered, Lord Hades was extraordinary. His skin spoke of never seeing sunlight, his hair was darker than the longest night and that expression on his face and in his eyes crushed any courage Aeneas may have gathered immediately. Aeneas was captivated and repulsed all at once, his heart screaming at him to flee before he was murdered where he stood for daring to approach this powerful being and his eyes transfixed to Hades's glory.

Deiphobe grabbed his forearm and forced Aeneas into a deep bow.

"My Lord and Lady, we have been guided here by divine will," Deiphobe spoke clearly and loudly in her deep salutation to the god and goddess seated above. "Aeneas, son of Aphrodite, has been charged to build the new kingdom by the gods and goddesses of all."

Aeneas had seen much beauty in life. His mother has always adorned herself with the loveliest of company and material goods, showering herself and her supplicants in grandeur and roses. But as he gazed at the Queen of the Underworld from his prone bowed position, Aeneas was reimagining his definitions of beauty. Persephone was bright, fresh and warm, even amongst the shadows of her throne and kingdom. She seemed to glow from somewhere within and there was a sort of light that shone from her eyes and smile that illuminated even next to Hades. Her gown was black and draped over her body like the Styx, sure but there were flower designs down her sides and she had bright red across her waist.

There was horror and death all around, yet here Persephone was, positively shimmering with life and light. Aeneas wondered if the rumours of her abduction were true.

Hades merely nodded to the seer. Deiphobe didn't even blink.

"We bring an offering in tribute to your majesties, and seek an audience with the shade of Aenea's father if we have any hope to follow the will of the Fates."

Aeneas held the golden bough high in the air. A dryad or a nymph moved forward and took the offering, giving it to Hades to examine.

"A symbol of rebirth, of divine knowledge and a receptacle for precious sustenance." Hades held the gold between his fingers, turning it over as he eyed the gift. "Fitting for my wife, I should think." Hades offered the bough in one hand to Persephone. "Accept this, my love, and the hero may continue to follow the course Fate has designed."

Aeneas shivered but caught the movement from Persephone as she accepted the golden bough.

"Your father's shade resides in the Elysian Fields," Hades pronounced. "I will call upon the Goddess of the Isle of the Blessed to arrange your required meeting."

Deiphobe stiffened and Aeneas began to panic at his ruling.

 _Who?_


	14. Chapter 14

Macaria closed her eyes.

How did Thanatos do this? Even as she listened, there were a multitude of forces swirling around her, desperate to take her away on their current. It was like being caught in the middle of a symphony – a thousand instruments strummed in all different directions and the temptation to be misled – to turn around in endless circles so that you could capture every note – was enticing.

Macaria willed herself to listen and hear only that which was relevant to her. She had to pick out the purest of sounds, the echo of new blessed souls, the rush of their end coming closer. They were her targets; everything else was just background noise.

 _Macaria._

Hades. Macaria felt her father's will drawing her near. It was icy and obscure and wonderful, tender and sweet but full of urgency. She let the shadows take her until she slipped to his side.

They were in her mother's lounge. Persephone was draped over a couch, her feet tucked up and her chest buried in blankets. She was reading a scroll. As Macaria winked into existence, her mother beckoned her and held out something that gleamed.

"Oh by all of creation, Macaria, a hero is here!" Persephone pressed something golden against Macaria's fingers. "It's amazing, he has paid us in tribute! He's in the House!"

Hades stood in the corner of the room, apparently stowing his helm. At a nod from her father, Macaria examined the object. It appeared to be a bough wrought all in gold, but she had never seen work so realistic, so exquisite.

"Is this made by Hephaestus or something?" she asked.

Persephone shook her head. "It is sacred from the groves near the Temple of Apollo – a natural bough made all in gold. I heard of it when I lived in Zeus's realm. It is said to keep anything precious preserved and safe from any that would do it ill will. Water from the bough has remarkable properties."

"A priceless gift," Macaria remarked, looking at Hades with confusion.

"The price this hero is willing to pay to consult with a Shade from Elysium." Hades answered her unspoken question. He sat gently next to Persephone and touched Macaria's arm. "How will you manage it?"

"Wh-What?"

"It is your dominion," Hades smiled. "This hero is requesting from _you_ , not the whole of the kingdom. I leave his request in your capable hands."

Macaria gaped.

"Not you?" she clarified shakily. "Me?"

"You." Hades nodded. "I have every faith. Do as you will."

"Some of the Lampades are waiting outside," Persephone encouraged. "They are waiting on your orders."

Macaria had not bargained on such a burden so quickly but, true to her nature, she straightened and bowed to her parents.

"Um… I will need your vessel, dad. These are mortals."

"As you wish," Hades pointed. "It is at the dock."

Macaria turned her back on her parents and left them huddled together on the lounge. She had no intention of disappointing them.

The Lampades were some of the most gracious and efficient hosts of the Underworld. Following their audience with Hades, Deiphobe and Aeneas had been led to wait on Macaria's pleasure. The Goddess of Blessed Death gave quick, courteous instructions to her handmaidens and they shimmered, vanishing in flickers of the white light they carried in their hands.

Macaria took one breath outside of the doors to the antechamber where the hero and the sibyl waited. She wished she knew what she was doing. She wished she'd had more warning.

More than that, she wished Thanatos was there with her.

 _He's busy,_ she thought. _And he always will be busy. I can't go waiting for Death to do my work for me. I can't ask him to hold my hand._

Macaria asked the servants to open the doors.

She'd had no experience with heroes, or mortals for that matter. Persephone had offered time and time again for her to accompany her to Zeus's realm and Macaria always declined. Taking in her first sight of a real living person, Macaria was a bit bemused.

Deiphobe was dainty, wiry from age but there was a touch of some god on her flesh and in her spirit. Her hair was white and flowed to her back and touched her waist. She sat as most of the immortals did when they were certain of their path – serenely, patiently.

But poor Aeneas was in another state. Macaria took one look at his shuddering limbs, his bloodshot eyes and hardened lips and assessed that he was the most frightened being she'd ever met. He had grit – there was some fortitude that was holding him together – and he seemed strong in body, if not necessarily in mind. He was pacing the room, wringing his hands.

 _The living don't belong here,_ Macaria reflected with some pity, staring at this strange and otherworldly soul. _Not until they have lived their life through. Why do heroes do such strange things to test their worth?_

The servants announced Macaria and the two mortals stood, bowed low and awaited her intention.

Macaria spread her hands.

"I hear you seek a very specific audience," she told them, trying not to scare poor Aeneas any further. "I am the goddess of those who reside in peace eternal."

Both nodded mechanically, like wooden toys. Deiphobe coughed and addressed her with her head down.

"I… must admit I did not foresee… The meeting is one between Aeneas here and his father, the companion of Aphrodite, who dwells in Elysium."

"Anchises enjoys the Isle of the Blessed, but the audience will need to be outside those sacred gates." Macaria gestured and the mortals stood. "Follow me."

Macaria guided the silent and obedient mortals to her father's vessel and headed for the shores of the Lethe. It was a space not far from the Gates of Elysium, but the waters had the properties of forgetfulness and any mortal who glimpsed too much of what they did not need to know could be quickly drenched in water without undue harm. The shore was dream-like and warm, for the banks were awash with the swell of thousands of memories being dragged away and Morpheus himself liked to occasionally lie in the sand and dream while awake by staring into the mixture of dying memories. She'd never had the gall to try it herself – even an immortal could lose too much of who they were if they bathed too long. Macaria told the Lampades to have the Shades outside of the Gates by the time they reached the shore.

"My goddess?"

"Yes?" Macaria turned in the vessel that the servant steered to see that Deiphobe had asked for her.

"May I ask…? For forgive me, I have little knowledge of the Underworld… Who you are so that the living may know where their prayers must go?"

Aeneas also stared keenly at her and Macaria was flattered by their interest. But there was something about Aeneas's fear, even more palpable in the small confines of the boat, which made her careful about her words.

 _Funny, I asked dad why he had so many names._ Macaria mused. _I never asked him what he asked the mortals to call him in the first place._

"Do not fear," Macaria asked softly, "for I am a gentle giver of Blessed Death to those who have lived full lives, good lives and deserve instant judgement to the Isle of the Blessed." She shrugged a little. "I am Macaria, daughter of Hades and Persephone. I will always be here for the good of heart."

Deiphobe bowed her head, kissed her own fingers in tribute. Aeneas hurried to follow her lead.

The ride was quiet after that. Macaria could feel the mortals' incredulity at the space they witnessed around them. Deiphobe seemed to be staring at her back, trying to take in Macaria herself.

 _She didn't foresee me?_ Macaria wondered. _Have I overstepped Fate?_

"Which of the pantheon places their blessings on you?" she asked the seer directly.

Deiphobe fished underneath the front of her robes for a moment before showing a thin, golden chain with a symbol engraved onto a disc at the end of it. Macaria knew that mark but had never seen it in the flesh – Apollo.

"My Lord has housed me in his Temple for many, many hundreds of years thus far," Deiphobe croaked, caressing the disc. "I have walked places with his Sight I never thought could exist. I feel his sunlight in the darkness." The oracle glanced at Macaria and the goddess felt something, like a shiver along her neck that whispered that Apollo had marked this one for Elysium and Deiphobe had surrendered her life to the god.

The vessel coasted into the shoreline and came to a gentle stop in the sands. Macaria directed her mortal visitors from the boat over to a plain between the Lethe and the Eridanus. The Lampades stood silently, their lamps casting a harsh white light to follow. Macaria stopped and let Aeneas approach his father.

Anchises had been old and feeble when he died, struck almost completely blind by Zeus for bragging about sleeping with Aphrodite when the king of the gods had not done so. The fact that Zeus had caused the lust in the first place was apparently beside the point – the God of the Skies had taken offence and Anchises had suffered until after the fall of Troy. But in death, Anchises had been returned to his former glory – his soul was unblemished and whole, permitted to enter the Isle of the Blessed. Tall, chiselled and darkened by his hours in the sunlight, Anchises's shade stood as his son remembered him – his kind, bearded face waiting impatiently. But as the two rushed to greet each other Aeneas's arms met only air and both men stood, swallowing their disappointment.

The interview was short. Macaria tried not to listen to much of it – something about Rome and Caesars and empires and other nonsense not relevant to her. She was distracted by a dark figure that stood on the opposite bank overlooking the Lethe.

Thanatos did not greet her, nor make a sound but she felt his stare and wondered at it.

 _He doesn't come closer because of the mortals,_ Macaria reflected. _He doesn't want to scare them either._

Somewhere that revelation hurt her and her heart instantly went out to this lonely, cold figure on the bank that she had been struck with love for. What kind of eternity had Thanatos known? Her father had told her once that Death had always been – Death was around even before the titans, even probably before there were realms at all when everything was light and night intertwined. Who held Death when he wanted someone close? Who spoke to him of the little things – like what they had seen today or what they wanted to try? Who knew his desires or hopes or fears?

Hecate may of, once. Macaria knew that Hecate considered it her business to know everyone, to hold those dear who didn't know how to love themselves and had modest, quiet lives. Her father said that although Hecate was mischief personified, there was a reason she could quiet the restless dead and summon those beyond the grave – she had a way of finding things in the hearts of people that others overlooked. But Hecate grew bored with the familiar easily and always sought new entertainments – Thanatos may not have held much interest for her for very long.

The mortal and his deceased father prattled on about how to get out of the Underworld safely but Macaria paid them no mind. She lifted a hand and waved at Thanatos – just a little. She wished he could come closer and she could hold him, despite the company. She felt a little dizzy at the thought of his kiss again. She tried to smile at him but with his hood down she had no clue as to his response.

"Majesty?"

A Lampade brought her back to the task at hand. Deiphobe and Aeneas were saying their goodbyes. Macaria felt Death vanish and shook herself.

 _I'm getting distracted here._

"Yes?"

"I thought you ought to know…" The Lampade bit her lip, casting her eyes to the Shade of Anchises. "There's been some… unrest in Elysium."

Macaria frowned.

"What do you mean?"

The Lampade fidgeted. "There's… Well, a lot of the Shades are nervous. They think something's coming… No one really knows what but it's making things uncomfortable."

 _The prophecy,_ Macaria went numb. _The Fates warned me. The titans are planning something and my father might not be able to stop it._

"I think I know of what you speak," Macaria told the Lampade, touching the young girl reassuringly on the shoulder. "I think it can be averted."

 _Else the Fates wouldn't have warned me… Surely. They never do anything without reason._

The Lampade shivered.

"It's like a storm's coming… I remember storms, you know? Zeus would stir the sky into such a frenzy the world was caught in his fury and rattled about like nothing I'd ever felt before… Like everything would fall apart from the force he wrought on the ground below."

"Just hold on," Macaria whispered to the Lampade as the mortals returned to her to hear her bidding. "Hold on and have some faith. I am working on it."

To hear that even the dead were picking up on signs of some great unrest was worrying. Macaria fretted silently in the boat as they returned to the House of Hades. Aeneas and Deiphobe were confident that Morpheus held the key to leaving the Underworld safely. Macaria did not keep them long.

"Our thanks, dear goddess," Deiphobe bowed to Macaria before they left. "The future will carry on as it must with your aid."

Aeneas was different after speaking with his father. His eyes were deep and dreamy, their depths alight with some kind of feeling Macaria couldn't describe.

 _It's like he's seen all the way down a long, long tunnel,_ she thought. _With only a tiny little light signalling the end._

She knew how he felt. She was wracking her brains and trying to recall every last detail the Fates had bestowed to her, trying to pick it apart to see a future she couldn't imagine. Titans? Here?

"I do hope so," she told Deiphobe but it was Aeneas that she watched as she spoke. The man seemed like Atlas – the whole future on his shoulders and he was bearing the weight as well as he could with silence and fortitude.

 _Let's hope he gets a chance to see his future made,_ the goddess thought bitterly. _Fortune be with you, Aeneas._

Morpheus came for the pair and Macaria was left to her own devices.

 _What now?_

Macaria found herself stalking towards her father's study in a fit of energy.

 _There has to be something more than just these vague accusations that the titans will return. There had to be something more specific than that!_

Macaria eased her way into the room. Hades wasn't in sight. That didn't necessarily mean that he wasn't present but Macaria had to take a chance. She pushed in between the Dead Chronicles and slid over to her father's desk. A creature of habit, Hades had a sparse desk when he wasn't in the middle of some work. There wasn't a single bit of parchment on the table. Macaria felt this was sign enough that he wasn't there for the moment.

"Macaria?" Persephone's voice issued from outside the door and her daughter froze, heart in mouth. "Are you there?"

 _Caught before I'd done anything!_

"…Yes."

Persephone entered, one hand on her belly. When she found her girl, she smiled.

"How did you fare?"

Macaria sighed.

"It wasn't hard, mum. They were respectful, the talk was short. Listen, I have to get back to Elysium and I'm just trying to find something…"

"What are you looking for?" Persephone sat down, watching her unusually awkward daughter. "A chronicle? A scroll?"

Macaria floundered in silence. Her mother, patient as always, let her find her words.

"It's… um… There's sort of a lot of… Disturbance. And see, well, I came to…" Macaria huffed out her breath and tried to be direct. "It's about the Fates. When I saw them, they mentioned a threat from… the titans."

Persephone groaned and leant back into the chair. "Yes I know."

"You _know?"_ Macaria couldn't believe her ears. "What do you mean, you know?"

"The titans have made plenty of prophecies and naysaid against Olympus for centuries," Persephone sighed, rubbing her aching legs. The pregnancy seemed to be catching up with her. "This one is about your baby brother."

Macaria stared at Persephone's belly which was showing her pregnancy clearly. Her mother took her hand, softly and gently.

"It will be alright," Persephone urged her. "Your father is making plans – when is he ever caught unawares…?"

"But that's just it," Macaria stuttered, "the Fates think he will falter because he is a father now and…" She shook her head. "What did the titan say?"

Persephone's voice was almost lulling as she recited what she knew.

"Three children born to the King and Queen of the Dead, foresaw Japetus. The first is the carrier of light that shalt never see the sun. The second shall suffer a fate worse than Death or else mark the rise of the Titans. The third shall wander with ghosts as comrades, seeking that which should not be sought."

 _Or else mark the rise of the Titans._ Macaria considered the words. She had read and re-read (without Hades's knowledge) the account he had made of the Titan War. The story had been trademark Hades – he had focussed on the raw facts rather than the emotional side of the terrors the gods and goddesses had faced. But even her father had slipped and there were hints of the chaos, the terror, the dread that the mightiest and most dangerous of the titans had inspired. Macaria couldn't imagine a world full of the sort of decay the Fates had hinted at, she had been brought up on peace and order.

At all costs, another needed to be avoided.

"A fate worse than Death? Worse than Thanatos?" Macaria shook herself. "What does that even mean?"

Persephone took Macaria's face in her hands.

"I know you're scared, but love, it will be alright. Your father _will_ figure it out. He has been working himself to the bone on efforts to ensure that the titans cannot rise. You'll see, we will ensure that it never happens and whatever happens to your brother…" Persephone shivered, Macaria felt her trembling fingers on her flesh. "He won't be dead. We will help him. We will save him from his fate."

Macaria clutched at her mother's hands.

"I need to see Thanatos," Macaria told her. "I will be back soon."

"Hades had talked it through with Thanatos many, many times," Persephone told her, letting her daughter go to rest both hands protectively across her stomach. "They will work it out."

 _Death knew? He knew about the prophecy for me and my siblings?_ Macaria kissed her mother's head and vanished into the shadows, taking her terror with her.

She felt Death. She drew him closer but he flitted away.

 _He's running from me?_

She sped faster into the dark. She felt another life sever and the next rung close by. Macaria pushed herself into the monochrome on the edge of existence and caught Thanatos leading another soul into the greyness before the Gates of the Underworld.

Thanatos lowered his hood when she caught his arm. He was really quite beautiful for a man – with thin lips, high cheekbones and the palest of white skin. His eyes were cold but hard to look away from. Macaria was surprised at how young he looked with his hood down – a mortal may mistake him as much younger than her parents. His hands were long and delicate.

"Are you hiding from me?" she asked him.

Thanatos considered her.

"Not particularly."

Suddenly shy, Macaria let go and looked around.

"I need to talk to you somewhere quiet," she told him. "It's important; I wouldn't pull you away from work otherwise."

Thanatos dismissed his scythe and took both of her hands in his own. Although skeletal and cold, Macaria gripped them with force.

"Your wish is my command," he whispered and then they had moved.

Macaria didn't even bother looking around at wherever he had taken them. She wasted no time on small talk.

"What is a fate worse than Death?"


	15. Chapter 15

_Aeneas…_

Oh, it hurt him so much – not be able to hold his father again. Aeneas hadn't considered really how it would be to see his father in full view again but not to be able to touch him. Touch was an essential part of the world of the living and it felt so wrong not to be able to reach out and hug his father to his chest. His father had been a gruff man, sometimes harsh but always dependable. Aeneas had carried him out of Troy determined that his father should survive the war, and survive the old man had. The loss of the city had been devastating to them all but his father had spurred them on, instructing all of the survivors that while they lived there was memory of Troy at its peak and the Greeks could never completely subdue what they had known so long as they spoke of it. For a time, he seemed invincible. When he had died, Aeneas lost himself for a little while. Seeing his father again in the Underworld but not being able to embrace him was like losing him all over again – it stung in places Aeneas didn't even acknowledge.

 _Wake up…_

The Underworld had surprised him in its majesty but also in its transparency. He'd heard all of the stories, sure but that was really what lay ahead? Some island in the middle of the Underworld, full of secrets and supposably, peace? He would not unlock the full realisation of the Isle for a long time, it seemed. Aeneas had listened as his father had whispered of Rome, a wonderful and powerful city-state that spanned untold years and forged some of the most incredible individuals that were not of the gods, but mere mortals with unshakable will. And the glorious empires, and the Republic and all the other manifestations of humanity's living force. All would be brought about with Aeneas's strength, Aeneas's vision and the words of Aeneas would shape the face of history forever. Without him, there were whole generations of people that would never come about, so forged would they be by the city's identity and might. Times would change on the realisation of that city. It would define a whole spectrum of time just by existing.

 _You have to wake up now…_

Deiphobe had beseeched gentle Morpheus, the God of Sleep and Slumber, to carry them once more into the light and all Aeneas could feel was that soul-wrenching sadness that only death could unite him with his father once again. Even now, Anchises's proud eyes were fading away into the murky depths of memory. Only death would reunite the family. Until then, the road was hard and long, full of work and it all seemed like a dream to Aeneas…

 _Father?_

… some god's dream that he had to make real, somehow, with flesh and blood and nothing but that. Was that too much to ask one man, one group of men, even? Of all the fates that could have been, why did he have to be bound to this one? But his father - he had accomplished what he had to and got to rest easy in a blissful everlasting existence…

 _Wake up!_

… overseen by a wonderful goddess, a vision in white…

 _Come on, get up!_

… that splendour…

 _Wake!_

… so beautiful…

 _Aeneas!_

… and as he had prepared to leave by the door of Morpheus, a last stab at his conscience had materialised. In the Fields of Asphodel – a face had leapt out at him among the swirl of Shades…

 _You have to get up!_

… sweet, lovely Dido, cold and distant in death. How he had screamed! How he had called her name as Deiphobe had pulled at his shoulders, pleading him to leave the dead to rest and Dido had gazed at him with sullen reproach. He had left her…

 _Father, come on. Hear me!_

… to die alone, abandoned, full of love…

 _Aeneas, hear your boy._

… but what had love done for either of them?

 _Aeneas!_

How his mother would curse him for that thought!

"Father!"

Aeneas blinked once, twice and then the world swum into view. He realised the strange colour above him was the breaking dawn and not the caverns of the Underworld with relief. His son leant over him and smiled when he saw his father start to stir.

"Let him take his time to sit up," Deiphobe warned Ascanius, coughing a little. She had been lying next to Aeneas in the dirt. "Morpheus's door is not to be taken lightly."

Aeneas remembered then that they had traversed the Underworld and survived. The golden bough was no longer at his hip and he had returned to Zeus's realm. For a moment he missed its comforting weight but he realised what it had bought him. He tasted the briny air, felt the real warmth of humidity on his back and heard the crescendo of surf. It took him a hazy moment or two but he brushed off the cobwebs of desolate thinking and was glad to be back.

Sunrise had never seemed so sweet. Aeneas quickly thanked the gods, especially his mother and Morpheus.

Ascanius stared, expectant.

"Well?"

"My boy," Aeneas said with happiness. "I have heard of the future we bring. I know where our city is to be built and it is not like Troy, far greater than anything of Greece and more brilliant than anything this world has ever glimpsed. It is close. We have little to travel but very much to bring about."

Ascanius whooped in excitement. But it didn't escape Aeneas that Deiphobe bowed her head, moved her lips in quiet prayer. He recalled that the seer had told him she had caught flashes of the new world they were to bring about, and they frightened her more than she had been able to express.

Deiphobe swayed suddenly.

"Sibyl!" Aeneas shot forward and caught her under the arms. Her body was trembling.

"Deiphobe?"

The sun was rising. It burned hotter and shone brighter on the shoreline a few miles ahead of them but the glow was unmistakeable. Deiphobe breathed heavily in Aeneas's arms for a moment and then he saw her pale, clammy face. He knew that grey cast at once and understood why the blood had rushed from her face.

The old woman was finally dying. Her story was almost over.

"I will fetch her some water!" Ascanius shot to his feet but Deiphobe croaked at him.

"This is where it ends," she told Aeneas with a kind of forced serenity. "You can carry on without me now."

Aeneas felt her ancient body, slick with sweat, start to shake violently. Her heart fluttered like a bird.

"Bury me properly," she begged him, digging her feeble fingers into his arm. "I must make the passage to the Elysium Fields. I want to see my sister again."

"I will pray," Aeneas promised. "I will beg Apollo, Aphrodite, Macaria and Hades to speed your journey to the Isle of the Blessed."

"I have never seen it, you know," Deiphobe whispered, her throat starting to fail. "It… hides. From the light… A mystery…"

"Shh…" The effort of talking was draining the vitality from her fast. Her body sunk forward into Aeneas and he held her tiny frame as the sun rose higher into the pink-orange sky. He felt a tickle of pain in his throat and saw Ascanius, aghast, watching the lady expire in front of them.

She kept muttering to herself as her colour drained away.

"You saw… The isle… Like candles…" her lips started to shiver as well. "There… She walks… She was… they told me… They always tell…"

"It's alright," Aeneas didn't know who he was reassuring – Deiphobe seemed to be sinking off faster than he could have believed possible. In the sunlight Aeneas saw the shimmer of tears on his son's cheeks.

"I did… everything… they said," Deiphobe murmured. "It… took… forever."

"You did it," Aeneas echoed. "You did everything you were meant to. It's alright now, you will be alright."

As the sun rose higher and finally stained the sky blue, Deiphobe died. The seer of Apollo wasted away in the sunlight and closed her eyes, finally still. Aeneas laid her gently on the ground, humbled.

She had gone on for so very long and until the end, she saw her duty done. Without compromise, without shirking and without distraction she had walked into the Underworld and out, and then calmly accepted the end of her days.

There had been so much courage in such a small woman.

"May the gods and goddesses grant her peace in the rest she deserves," Ascanius prayed aloud, watching the sun.

Aeneas stood with a new heaviness in his chest. It was a mixture of grief and acceptance.

"May Apollo witness his loyal servant and seer. We must bury her with the rites," he instructed his son. "Bring the shovels to the top of the hill. We must lay her to rest in the sunlight."

The men she had spoken to with such authority built her tomb and laid her to rest with gold for the ferryman over her eyes. Aeneas made sure that Apollo's sign lay over her heart, easily recognisable to grave thieves as a warning – do not touch this sacred site. Apollo's revenge would be swift and merciless for such devoted service to his glory.

They prayed and begged Hades for swift passage. They thanked Apollo for his sight and the wonder of his seer. Aeneas silently added a prayer to Macaria that she might make swift judgement on such a kindly ancient being and bring her sweet rest with her dear sister.

At the end of the rites Aeneas drew them near. He spoke of much of what his father had revealed to him, putting the fire back into his men's purpose and vigour. He renewed their faith in him, told them about Persephone's acceptance of his gift. They stared at him with new eyes, marvelling that he had seen Hades's realm and lived.

"Our city will be like none other! Friends and comrades, Troy will be a shadow compared to this place in the height of its prime! We will show Greece and we will show the world what will rise out of the ashes of our fallen city, with our might and our will. Fate has chosen us; fortune has favoured us and the divine ones themselves have set about the days that will befall us." Aeneas gestured at the grave they had constructed. "Deiphobe knew our futures. Her eye was allowed to watch in detail what we will bring about and although I have not such clear a vision, I believe in us. We will ring about the birth of our city - Rome!"

His men cheered and clapped his words. On the edge of Deiphobe's grave they made a pact to bring this city to glory and fame like no other.

Little did they know what kind of manifestation that pact would bring, what kind of city they would give birth to, how two brothers would fight unto death to name and be proclaimed the first king of Rome and what sort of kings would follow in their footsteps in the aeons to come. This fate could only come about if the worlds survived the birth of Zagreus and the uprising of the titans but they were ignorant that their glorious promised future hung on a delicate balance with the end of the world as they knew it.

Deep within the realms of the Fates, Clotho watched the strand of life she had been cultivating almost come to a point. Atropos held Deiphobe's recently sheared life strand between her fingers, tied it off at an end and saw her sister's hesitation.

"We're close, then?" she asked.

"Very," Clotho remarked.

Lachesis took a moment to admire the tiny nub between Persephone and Hades's strings which preceded the birth of a god. The decay on the floor of their domain seemed to bubble and reach out towards this focal point – the canker of the titans could sense the time was drawing nearer as well. Prophecy didn't just belong to the Moirae, although they tried to keep its secrets. The air was potent with the stink of rot and foulness that they could taste at the back of their throats. It was already difficult to breathe normally.

The titans were about to try and seize their chance at regaining their power.

Atropos nodded to her sisters. It was out of their hands now.

"We have done all we could have," she remarked, continuing her work and trying to ignore the putrid stench from the floor that had spoilt so many life-strands already.

"Was it enough?" Lachesis whispered, measuring out Macaria's life with her hands. The line was strong, glowing silvery-white in the darkness. Thanatos's black line crossed it and followed it upwards. "Will it work?"

"We watch," Clotho murmured into the strings. "We wait."

"And we go on," Lachesis sighed.

The sisters laboured on, carrying silent prayers in their hearts.


	16. Chapter 16

Kronos was many things to many different beings.

To his mother, Gaia, he was a liberator of sorts, having castrated his father Ouranos and saved her from perpetually having children to the voracious and carnivorous sky. Cursing his son with his final breath, Ouranos had kept a wary distance ever since, leaning against Atlas's back but never violating the earth again.

To his wife Rhea, he was a paranoid and harsh partner. He had sent each of his children into the Maw without mercy, fearful of the new order that was prophesised to be brought about by his progeny. She had tricked him in the end and watched her children lock him in that self-same prison she had despised. Certainly, she had loved him, once. But what mother chooses her partner over her babies in such a situation? How could any loving mother condone such torture? He had made her despise him and in return, she had outwitted him before retreating almost entirely from the world they had once ruled over together.

To the rest of the Titans, he had been revolutionary. Bold and daring, he had taken the scythe and rearranged the barely formed Cosmos to be the way he intended it to be, liberating both his mother and his siblings in one act of violence. Before this moment, there was an unspoken rule that what was could not be changed – even if it was not ideal. No one had enjoyed the rule of Ouranos but it was there, it was thought to be undeniable fact. But the Titans had thought Kronos truly formidable the day he changed the world.

To the gods and goddesses, he had been a difficult opponent of epic proportions. More like the elements than a true being composed of flesh, he had darted through their world and nightmares with equal dexterity. His children burned with a hateful fervour that hadn't quenched itself, even when he lay defeated and locked in the Maw of Tartarus. The father of most of the Olympians was never spoken about and eternally hated. Even Hera, arguably one of the most stubborn and narrow-sighted of goddesses, couldn't dispel him from her thoughts entirely. He was in nightmares, in shadows, in the whisper of their past that she would rather block out completely. Try as she might, even the Queen of the Heavens and Earth felt a shiver run down her spine occasionally, and even in the brightest sunlight of their kingdom lurked the memory of his menace.

To humanity, he was something like a shadow. They knew not of the threat posed by the Titans, not really. They might have immortals to whisper the stories to them, the musicians occasionally sang of the Titanomachy but they hadn't been there. Prometheus had given them a flame in the peace that followed, they had been born again twice since then. They were children who had heard of monsters and delighted in imaging their destruction but never before come face to face with real terror.

Kronos was in torment, even in a cage he had devised. Tartarus ate at his mind, at his sense of where he was and what was happening. But not too long ago Japetus had given them a tiny pinprick of illumination in that darkness, and a tiny foothold was all a being like Kronos needed. He was rallying the rest of the captured Titans silently, reminding them who they were in the darkness, much as his wife had done to his children when they were imprisoned. But he was so much more powerful than she, and he had a real prophecy to guide his way.

Persephone was due to give birth to a son in three days.

The sons of Hades, Poseidon and Zeus were remarkable – even Zeus's half-human progeny had divine gifts beyond the norm of most natural-born immortals. Hades had elevated his wife to become a new goddess, raw and unexperienced but gifted with her own talents. She too had a divine mother in Demeter and so much potential, even as a demi-goddess. Kronos expected this grandson to be utterly unique in many regards. Zeus and Hera may boast of the likes of Ares and Hephaestus to contend with in their family tree but Hades too would know the trepidation of a powerful son.

The energy emitting from the soon-to-be god, even now, was palpable. Kronos had temptations for the baby prepared. Hades would be caught off-guard by just how strong his newborn would be. The proud father would not think to bind his son on birth – that was not Hades's way. And then, the boy would come to them…

The Titans shared his knowledge, his anticipation almost by osmosis in the chasm. They lashed out at the barrier that held them and cried out their terrible glee. Soon, revenge the likes of which humanity couldn't even dream of would sweep the world, when the Titans rose again to claim what was stolen from them.

Kronos knew of humanity. He had laughed at Zeus's pettiness, giving the box of all horrific things the Titans had born into the world to Pandora in the hopes that they would set everything loose upon themselves. One woman had started the downfall but in reality it was Zeus – Zeus and his horror at being overthrown, his callousness and his need for respect from those he considered lesser. Humanity would be an interesting new plaything for Kronos and his kin.

The son of Hades… His blood would be their salvation. He would help Kronos strike the final blows against his father and his uncles. He would assail the world in ghosts. He would command the dead to terrorise the living endlessly until humanity were mere Shades on a ravaged landscape.

There was very little that could stop them.

… _Death will come for the boy?_

… _Break the barrier…_

… _Death's scythe. The scythe…_

Almost incoherent, but gathering in volume every day, the mutterings of the Titans were growing like thunder in the distance. Kronos willed them to be quiet, to wait, to be patient just a little while longer. Hades knew of the prophecy but he was so weak and without a clear indication of the way Japetus intended it to materialise, he would be powerless with grief and horror. Subterfuge was necessary – patience crucial. Timing was everything now.

Without meaning to (in a place with no planes and no points of reference for space or matter at all) the Titans were converging around their leader, listening to his encouragement, feeding on his anticipation. And to a certain Grey-Eyed goddess peeping through the doorway of the Maw, listening intently to her enemy's plans, they came through ever so slightly more clearly around the focal point of her grandfather Kronos.

Athena's military-level attention was alien to the hundred-handed giants, who watched her vigil while marvelling at her focus. There was a speculative frown on her face and she was almost undetectable, save for the bright sparkle that sometimes shone when the giants tried to perceive her. It was an impressive feat that she could be hidden to such a degree.

Athena sheathed her sword and hurried away from the Maw. She barely registered the chaos of Tartarus, as the other captives around her shrieked their pleas and horrors. The owl on her shoulder sat stoic, unmoved by the punishments around its mistress.

Hermes was perched just beyond the entry point of Tartarus, listening to the river of fire nearby. He looked warily until Athena came into full view.

"They know the timeline," Athena muttered. "You had better let Father know."

Hermes swore rather badly and slapped his caduceus against his thigh.

"And let Poseidon know, too, while you're out," Athena went on, her expression distant as she thought through her strategy. "The Trident is a potent weapon."

Hermes just nodded and soared away, bristling with nerves.

Athena got into a raft and made her way towards her uncle's House. She liked to navigate the waters herself – it helped her ponder. The owl on her shoulder dug its talons into her arm to pull her away from her introspections when the Styx became perilous. The sight of her companion missed nothing.

She reached the dock without incident and went ashore. A servant noticed her approach and, as instructed, raced off to find Hades discreetly. He had been spending most of his time with Persephone but the staff were under strict orders to avoid upsetting her, or bringing news to make her worry, if at all possible.

Hades met her in the Throne Room, where she laid out her new intelligence with meticulous care.

"They want to attract Death through the barrier of the Maw," Athena surmised. "I imagine that either the threat or actual action to murder your son will bring him running. They want to gain control of Kronos's scythe again, and cut their way to freedom."

Hades's face betrayed nothing but his pupils were black with restraint.

Athena gestured a little helplessly.

"Fates that stipulate 'either or' logic are difficult to misinterpret – there are two consequences possible, and only two outcomes. One is suffering for your son but no Titans, the other is the rise of the Titans." Athena shook her head and grimaced. "I know of many fates written, uncle. Few have met the threshold for 'worse than death.'"

"What was one you can recall?" Hades asked.

Athena stared but Hades would not relent.

"This is my son we are discussing," Hades reminded her softly. "Forewarned is forearmed."

The goddess of Wisdom sighed but told the truth.

"The lover of the Dawn had a fate that I would categorise in a similar way. Eos was cursed by Aphrodite for eons before she met Tithonus in Troy. Eos asked my father to grant him eternal life so that they could be together but forgot to ask for eternal youth. He wasted away and begged for death as old age overcame him, but because of Zeus's power, he couldn't die. In the end, Eos couldn't do anything for him except to transfigure his appearance into a cricket that sheds its skin and let him be content as an immortal insect." Athena frowned at Hades. "The theme is the same – a fate worse than the relief and peace of Death."

"Thanatos…" Hades mused for a moment, his fists clenched. The House was full of activity, as servants had rebuilt some of Macaria's nursery to be fit for a boy. Persephone could be heard laughing and complaining of her engorged stomach to the naiads, who praised her for her glow and grace. Her time was very close.

"Macaria," Hades whispered into the still room where the two divine beings contemplated grim prophecy.

A white light shivered, and then solidified in front of Athena. She covered her face with a hand as Hades's daughter materialised. Athena blinked as Macaria came into focus. Solemn, beautiful and every bit like her father, Macaria nodded to them both.

"You called?"

"I need to discuss something with you in private," Hades asked. "But it is delicate and not for the ears of neither your mother nor Thanatos. Do you understand?"

Athena watched the girl bend to duty after a brief moment of surprise. The goddess of Wisdom was relieved – Macaria was _very_ much like Hades and obedient to the letter.

Hades dismissed Athena with a brisk nod.

"Hermes is on his way to both Poseidon and Zeus," Athena reminded him. "I will be back later."

With that, she was gone, simply melting out of the visible spectrum into darkness and her owl with her. Macaria watched her leave with trepidation.

"The prophecy is close?" she asked her father.

"Three days," Hades confirmed, beckoning her close. He sat heavily on the Throne and Macaria had a jarring thought that her father was terrified. He didn't show it very clearly, but she could see that he was exhausted and troubled. His eyes were dark with worries.

Macaria sat on the floor as she had done as a child while she had read to her parents. That brought something like a grin fleetingly back to Hades's face for a second.

"I am going to ask you to do some terrible things," Hades whispered to her carefully. "When I first learnt that I was to be a father, I wanted you all to be safe and content in the kingdom. What I wished for most of all was that our labours would keep you above the strife that the realms provide and away from all of the snares of prophecies and wars. I… have failed in that."

Macaria didn't know whether to hug him, laugh at him or slap him. How could he imagine a world with conflict that never touched those he loved? They were rulers and servants to fate!

There were things worth fighting for.

"You have no choice," she told him. "We did not choose to live. We cannot choose our fate."

Hades's face contorted.

"I have to ask you to do something that goes against everything we know," he told her bluntly, "and is more dangerous than you realise. But we need to. The Titans cannot be allowed to rise. When my brothers and I split the dominions we held to a pact – above all else, the Titans had to be contained."

Macaria nodded and listened.

Hades told her. He laid out his plans and his interpretation of the prophecy as much as he could. He watched her face but even though it grew frightened, it was not disgusted. She did not shirk from duty. Macaria did not back away in horror of what he was commanding her to do.

"And if I am unsuccessful?" she finally interrupted him. "What then?"

Hades gazed down on his daughter.

"It has not escaped my attention that Thanatos is in love with you." Macaria blushed a little. "I doubt you will fail in this."

"It was the Fates," she blurted, staring at the floor. "We…"

"It is what it is," Hades told her. He stood. "If I should fall the kingdom is yours and your mother's. I have made the arrangements. If your brother survives when he reaches majority it will be his, but only because you have your ascendancy." Hades pointed at her. "Should everything fail us, get your mother into my sanctuary and bolt yourselves inside. You know how to get in, you have my blood, and it will recognise only you and I."

Macaria made to protest as she stood but Hades cut her off before she could draw breath.

"I will hear no arguments. If the Titans rise they will seek vengeance firstly on those who fought against them last time. It will buy you a moment to hide away. _You need to obey me in this._ I will not be able to fortify the Shades of the dead, I will not be able to prevent the Titans taking the realm if it comes to that. Someone will need to rally the dead and the immortals here. Someone will need to establish a resistance for the human souls… It has to be you."

Macaria felt tears tickle her eyes and throat. She forced them away, coughed and nodded. A world without her father was a concept she didn't even want to consider.

Hades sighed. "I need to take you through the armoury, and show you the countermeasures of the Underworld. Do you need a moment?"

"No father," Macaria swallowed but her hands were steady. "Lead the way. I am listening."

Later, after he had showed her the defences of the realm, after he had talked through plan after plan with her in regards to the safeguarding of the Shades and especially the Isle of the Blessed, after she had gone to Elysium to see her Lampades were prepared just in case she needed to become Queen of the Underworld, Hades hid in his study. Athena, who had eyes and ears everywhere at the moment in case there was more to learn, heard his dry heaves and heard his crying but no one else did. No one knew Hades stood over his desk weeping onto his charters of the dead because he had passed on the burden of the Underworld to his daughter and was planning unspeakable tragedy for his son.

Hades disappeared for a long time that night but when he returned, Persephone found him looking dry-eyed and energetic.

"How goes it with you?" Hades asked her, sliding a piece of hair aside to kiss her brow. Persephone groaned.

"He's getting the hiccups and they won't stop. For the last _hour_ I've been randomly shaking. And he's stretching, he's uncomfortable. Poor thing."

Hades ran a hand over Persephone's swollen belly and felt his son hiccup again. The feeling was surreal, magical.

"Not long now," huffed Persephone.

"No," agreed Hades, removing his hand. "Not long now at all.


	17. Chapter 17

Amphitrite knew everything about storms.

In all of the oceans, there was not a swell that surprised her. She recognised their wrath as the billowing rages of her husband. Sometimes they were the smaller, but no less perilous furies of her children flailing their powers to compensate for the tumult within. She had seen them all – she knew the ebb and flow of all of them. She was always there to watch and wait, then to eventually help her children or her husband find their calm and quell the waters once more. In comparison to the long millennium of the immortals, their vehemence was always short, undeniably powerful but directionless like a ship tossed about without a compass. The storms had a pattern - they built, they raged and then they eventually died.

But this was a different kind of storm.

Deep underwater, where the darkest parts of the ocean fused together in trenches that seemingly had no end, the immortals cast their own illumination. The water was freezing and the pressure beyond that most matter could stand but, with gentle powers, creatures of all kinds were tempted to live in the gloom by the deities who resided in a magnificent castle of coral and stone. Their will shaped this inhabitable darkness into something beautiful, warm and welcoming.

The House of Poseidon was a marvel. Smooth, undulating white sand gave way to enormous steps that led to the single gate – a behemoth of architecture from marble, coral, silver and intricate shells grown into a stunning formation. Poseidon had placed a statue of his trident at the peak of the palace roof, its three prongs shimmered blue and white in the mock-sunlight his power called into being. There were so many mosaics that adorned the outer walls, for it was not built for defence but simple for splendour and it sparkled almost like a mirage in amongst the seething mass of ocean-life that passed by.

Amphitrite knew that an entrance to the Underworld lay right underneath the heart of her palace, just next to the Thrones of the Oceans. Sometimes, if one of her sister nereids committed an offence against her or her family (there were an awful lot that tried to sleep with her husband in her very own palace, and how quickly they discovered their mistake when they tried to hide the fact from their Queen) they were sentenced to serve in the Underworld for a time and they would be sent down into that gloom. Poseidon and Hades rarely communicated, which seemed to suit both brothers just fine, except for these contracts to ensure their servants were punished in a fitting manner.

However, Amphitrite could feel the tendrils of the Underworld in the currents around her home and swore she could hear those infamous Underworld rivers hissing against the sea. It was an unnatural and unwelcome interruption to the serenity. Amphitrite did not know what Poseidon was doing with the passage open for so long but she could sense the quiet that was merely the prelude to terrible ferocity and power.

She knew then, what was happening- they were all swimming in the calm before the storm.

Amphitrite pulled her chariot along, urging the beasts faster into the stables. She barely spared a glance for the servants who took the reins and helped her down, did not in fact hear her daughter yelling her name until Rhode touched her gown.

"Mother!"

"Sweetheart," Amphitrite usually had time for the meekest of her children but she was too fixated on the gloomy chill resonating from the Underworld at that moment. "I am looking for your father…"

"He is in the Throne Room," Rhode told her, touching her arm now. "But mother, there is something wrong with him…"

Panic flared. "Wrong?"

Rhode nodded. Her beautiful sea-nymph daughter was pale with fright, her wide golden eyes beseeched her mother to listen and comprehend.

"He is…" Rhode gasped. "I don't know! He has been in audience with Athena and Hades alternating, baring all other from the door! Even Triton cannot speak to him! Something must have happened…"

"No," the Queens of the Oceans tasted the waters and took her daughter's hand. "Something is _about_ to happen. I must see him."

Rhode shivered. "He won't let anyone in!"

But the Queen had dealt with her husband's ways for centuries – she knew his moods and had always managed to see through them. So she merely kissed her daughter's cheek and let the nymph swim away, filled with anxiety about her parents coming into conflict.

The temperature dropped inside the palace walls. Servants bowed in the face of their Queen and she noticed the way their eyes were fixed to the floor. Her handmaiden was called and answered her mistress at the run.

"Did he say anything?" Amphitrite asked.

She didn't need to specify – Amphitrite had been Queen long enough for her personal staff to know what she was talking about. The handmaiden just shook her head and produced her mistress's crown.

"Okay," Amphitrite dressed, placed the crown on her head, fixed her hair around it and caught her reflection in the mirror. She was a vision of silver, pearl and sweet calming blue. Her long tresses floated, buffeted by her own movements in the water to form a sweet halo around her head and shoulders. The intricate shell design of her crown winked at her in the light and she tried to dispel the tension from around her eyes. Poseidon always looked there first to judge her moods.

 _Calm,_ she breathed slowly, evenly. _I must stay calm, no matter what is happening._

She took slow, even strides to the Throne Room.

At the Grand Hall, her eldest son was ordering soldiers.

"How many can we spare?"

"My lord, without orders from his Highness, I don't think…"

" _But how many soldiers could we spare?"_ Triton bellowed and the attendants jumped.

Amphitrite entered and seeing her, the staff bowed silently. Triton turned and threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Finally!" Triton seized his mother's shoulders, ignoring her displeasure. "Get in there and talk some sense into father! If the Titans are actually trying to break out as Athena says, then, for the love of all creation, he needs to do more than sit and…"

"Titans?" Amphitrite moved herself out of Triton's reach and her tone brooked no more diatribes from him. "Stay here."

"Mother..?"

She didn't repeat herself but instead quickened her pace. At least the answer to Poseidon's building tension was clear. She knew Triton wouldn't have made things easier for the King of the Oceans by mocking and trying to start speaking strategy but her son didn't know the truth.

Her husband would be having flashbacks.

 _The Maw…_ She hissed in a disgusted breath. _Tartarus is inescapable!_

But if the Goddess of Wisdom thought otherwise, then Amphitrite suspected they were at tremendous risk.

The door opened to her touch and immediately the swell of icy liquid and the sound of fire on water sizzled from the room. Amphitrite reigned in her fears and stood tall as Poseidon rounded on whoever has trespassed on his privacy.

"Save it," Amphitrite ordered him before he could start bellowing. "I need to be here."

Poseidon's body heaved with restraint. She caught the flicker of rage, of torment in those incredibly green-blue eyes as he hung onto his emotions. The lines in his dark features writhed; his knuckles on the trident were white. But Amphitrite held out her hands, contrite and calming, before her husband. She could see the black, shivering form of Hades in the darkness – his pale face almost luminescent.

"Lord of the Underworld," she called out to acknowledge him.

"Lady of the Oceans," he bowed his head briefly and turned back to Poseidon. "I need your word, now."

Poseidon curled his lip but didn't dismiss his wife, which Amphitrite took to mean she could stay for the time being. He snarled at Hades instead, "it violates everything. Zeus and the Moirae will not stand for it."

"This is my last plan," Hades assured him. "A last stand if all fails. Our father cannot rise and I will not allow the realms to be tainted by him."

"The Gate to Tartarus is indestructible," Amphitrite told the Lord of the Dead. "We all contributed to make sure of it."

Hades sighed.

"Things have changed… A prophecy will come to pass in a matter of hours that could undo all we have done. I would not be apart from Persephone now if it were not vital, brother, that I have this vow from you. I hope that you will never have to honour it."

Amphitrite did not ask. She was too shocked. When the Titans were subdued and their souls cast into the Maw, every god and goddess had sealed their pact with Zeus by contributing to the fortification of that prison. Zeus's lightning flickered across its Gates. Poseidon's might constantly forced it shut. Every being had leant power to the building of it so that it would not fail, not until every vestige of power from every drop of ichor in their veins was extinguished from all the realms. You needed the blood of a god to pass through that barrier, and even then it had to be the blood of Zeus, Poseidon or Hades themselves – no one else could withstand the crossing and maintain their sanity. It was a ludicrous prospect.

Poseidon cracked the end of the trident against the floor.

"If your son allies with the Titans…" Poseidon began slowly, "perhaps I will not be able to carry out the vow you ask of me. Maybe he will simply be too powerful."

"Do not doubt yourself," Hades urged. "The waters of the Rivers are still tied to you, brother. It could only be you. Zeus and I will do what we can, but we need you to be there and committed to the task."

"Fine!" Poseidon spat. "I take this oath upon the River Styx! Should the Titans escape their prison and should you fall, I will destroy them and your realm with them before they can cross into the world of the living!"

Amphitrite gasped at the surge of power that emanated from Poseidon as he took this tremendous oath. Hades merely nodded and vanished, the passage to the Underworld closing behind him. Poseidon hung his head and she went to him, stroking his hair, trying to swallow the horrid sensation of terror that was starting to form tears in her eyes.

They were silent. Amphitrite willed herself to break that silence, to try and talk this through logically but her beloved was shaking.

"He thinks…" the King of the Seas began, coughing a little past his fears. "That… His son will bring about the rise of the Titans and…"

"I know," she told him, even though she didn't really and she didn't want to hear that dejected, pleading tone in her husband's voice. "I see… I know…"

"Persephone is in labour," Poseidon whispered.

"Where is Zeus?" Amphitrite wondered aloud. Poseidon took her hand, kissed it gently.

"Arming the cyclops, just in case," Poseidon sighed. Amphitrite wondered why she didn't feel more like her son Triton, rushing to arm their defences, but instead she was struck dumb. The War of the Titans had been an atrocity of epic proportions but Hades was willing to sacrifice his realm – the existence of his entire cause for being – to ensure that they did not break into the world of the humans and the living.

 _Endure,_ Amphitrite urged herself. _We have to endure what comes with the word of the Fates._

"Love," she told him, "we must prepare also. You will need the strength of all to bring about what you have promised to do."

Poseidon swayed on his feet, clenching the trident. He was holding back memories. He was wresting with his grief, that he would tell his brother that he would obliterate him to save the rest of the realms. Amphitrite knew that he felt Hades had been cheated all those eons ago and had never said so aloud, but he cherished his brother and valued him above Zeus. Hades was his antithesis – cool logic, hard work, control at all times, justice for all. As children they had clashed horribly as siblings who will never see eye to eye do but Poseidon detested the fact he had agreed to this.

She waved her hand and orders like constellations flickered at her fingertips then raced off through the currents to their places – to shine and alert the soldiers of all the oceans that there was a need to defend. Poseidon stared at the ceiling as she made the commands he would have done if he was not holding back the tumult of shame, anger and fear.

Amphitrite shone with white light, like the moon reflecting off the waves at night. She let it pour through her fingers, shimmer off her gown, beam from the pearls in her crown until she heard the cry of bells meaning the oceans were assembling their armies. When she was done, she turned to see her husband had donned armour, his crown was on his brow and his trident was flickering with the reflection of her light. The doors behind them opened at Triton walked in, bearing his own arms.

"Father?"

"Prepare for attack from the Underworld," Poseidon ordered. "Prepare to support fleeing souls. Build my power reserve, to face the Titans."

Titan bowed and sprinted to obey. Amphitrite's handmaidens met her at the doorway with her own armour, spear and bow. She touched her husband on his arm once, briefly and then they went their separate ways.

"My Lady?"

"You heard the King," Amphitrite snapped. "Get to it."


End file.
